#side note you would not believe how much i kept debating myself on whether this guy would even say thank you or how he would say it-

[energeticpoltergeist]

Part 1: Mad King's War

Prologue: Diverged History(pages 1-4)

[the-infamous-coat-of-baron-zemo]

My Heart Is A Safehouse For You | Part 2

Part 1 | Part 2

Santiago Garcia x Reader

Word Count: 1,697

Rating: T

Summary: Set prior to the events in the Triple Frontier universe. There is a 3 year contract to obtain intelligence and dismantle as many cartel related activities as possible - hopefully leading up to toppling one of the most prolific traffickers in Columbia. Can the reader help the team decipher the cartel’s next movements, and will they possibly lose their heart in the process?

Notes: Taking all the background liberties with this one. Littering everyone’s backstory we know from the film and pretending the guys banded back together for a 3 year contract mission, that paid them pretty decently and kept them relatively at low risk.

Not beta read or proofread.

----------

Of all the people to discuss your revelation about Santiago, Will wasn’t really at the top of the list. Quite frankly, none of the guys were someone you would talk to about something so personal. That being said, Will mostly kept to himself. Wasn’t one to go around gossiping with his friends, no matter how close he was with them. The strong and silent type. In that respect, out of all the guys - he would be the one person you felt you could trust to confide in. 

“It stays between us?” you look up at him from your perch on the fence. 

“I’ll take it to my grave,” Miller says, smirking slightly while resting a hand over his heart. 

You chuckle at his remark, before giving in.

“I made a mistake,” you admit, sighing. 

“Hard to believe that.”

“Okay smooth operator, it’s not like that. I had no control what so ever,” you playfully swipe at the arm closest in range. You gaze at Will, watching him take a drink from his beer before continuing, “I - kind of, fell in love.” Pausing momentarily, you grimace, “With Santiago.” 

The expression on his face, coupled with the reaction of Will nearly choking on his beer, almost made you wish you could have snapped a photo and save it for posterity. 

Eyes raising in surprise, Miller recovered long enough to eye you curiously, before turning to lean his arms against the fencing and look out into the field. Though he didn’t say anything right away, you could tell from the expression on his face, he was working out what you had revealed to him. 

“It makes sense. I mean - of all the things I thought you might say, this definitely wasn’t one of them - but, I get it.” 

“You do?” responding slowly, twisting to mimic his pose, arms resting on the fence. 

You hear Will clear his throat, taking another pull from his drink, “I’m not so sure it’s one sided either. From the very first day we arrived, you and Pope - you’re relationship has always been different than with the rest of us. Not so much so that it would attract attention, but you’ve always gravitated toward one another.” Pausing to look at you, he continues “Looking back, maybe we all should have seen it sooner, but you two have a balance that I’ve rarely seen. Even with my own fiancé.”

Tilting your head, you glance up at him, brow furrowing. 

“What? Come on. Don’t be silly. You and Meg are great together,” you parry back, grabbing his arm and looping yours through his in comfort. “And as far as Garcia is concerned, you forget he has a girlfriend.”

“Girlfriend. That’s not exactly the word I would use, but sure - let’s go with that for now,” Will laughs humorlessly. 

“Will,” you drag his name out. “Listen, you and I can both agree that I’m not Garcia’s type.” You see Miller start to open his mouth to protest, but you stop him, “I’m super nerdy, spend all my day in books, run around doing a million different things to stay busy and keep to myself a lot,” 

“Look. This is out of my area of expertise, so I’m not going to sit here and debate you on this. All I know, is from what I’ve observed. And what I see is that there is a lot that goes unsaid between the two of you, whether you’re both willing to admit it or not. I won’t pretend to know how Garcia feels. What I do know, is that in all the years I’ve known Pope, he’s never looked at anyone the way he looks at you.” 

It was probably one of the longest conversation you’d ever had with Will alone. And at that moment, you really wanted to hug the man.

So you put down your bottle and did just that. Wrapping your arms around him, you muffle out into his shoulder, “Thank you.” 

You feel Miller exhale as he reciprocated the hug.

“Try not to let that guy get into your head too much. You’ll figure out what to do,” he whispers into your hairline, brushing his lips against your temple lightly. 

The hug was comforting and reassuring. Will really knew how to make someone feel calm, grounded. Your feelings didn’t seem quite so overwhelming anymore. 

A not so subtle cough sounded from the side, interrupting your train of thought. 

You pull away from Will, turning to glance in the direction of the noise. 

“Hey Benny,” you smile, scrunching your nose and waving.

“Am I interrupting, or -,” the youngest Miller trails off, cautiousness in his tone. 

“No,” you groan rolling your eyes.

“Dude,” the eldest Miller brother scolds, simultaneously to your reply. 

“One hug and everything goes to hell in a handbasket,” you grumble so only Will can hear.

Will drops his eyes from his brother to grin down at you.

“Come on, let’s get inside before my brother makes a scene out of nothing,” Will mocks, his voice getting louder with each word.

You both grab your empty bottles and head inside. You push forward leaving the two Miller brothers behind, but not before poking Benny in the side.

“No interrogating. Your brother was just being a good friend.” 

Benny holds his side in an exaggerating manner, “Oow, woman. Who’s been training you?” 

You swivel around walking backwards, “Only learn from the best, Miller.” Winking at him, you turn back around and make your way towards the house once more. 

Benny had been kind enough to teach you some self defense in your off time. You weren’t great, but you weren’t terrible either. So, your pokes are a little bit of an inside joke between the two of you. 

You can hear the chuckles of both brothers. Opening the door, you hold it so Will and Benny can pass through. As they approach, you can hear Benny whispering questions to his brother, hand clamped around his shoulder. The oldest Miller simply looks exasperated at whatever his brother is saying. As they pass through the doorway, Will gives you a shake of his head at his brother. Benny, smiles at you, but makes a motion with his fingers from his eyes to you. 

Oh great. What. Does he really think, you and Will are having some sort of torrid affair? Hopefully Will would set him straight. There was humor in his body language when he did it, but still. You didn’t want a shovel talk from Benny over a non-existent relationship with someone, who is, in your mind, already married.

Shaking your head, you close the door.

You turn to move further into the room ,but nearly bump into Garcia, not noticing he had been waiting by the door. 

Clutching your chest, you inhale sharply to prevent yourself from making any startling noises.

“Garcia. Hi. I’m sorry, I didn’t see you there,” you say breathily. 

“Sorry, didn’t mean to scare you,” Pope says, holding his hands up placatingly. 

“Ugh. You and Will both today. It’s fine. I should have been more observant.” 

“Everything okay?” Garcia juts his head to the outside, crossing his arms on his chest.  

Not ready to discuss the conversation you had with Will, you play it off light-heartedly, “Yeah. Nothing life threatening. I would tell you if it was something serious.” 

Garcia scrutinizes your response, but his body language is much more lax. He steps closer to you, reaching a hand up to the top of your head. 

You peer up at him confused, but when he brings his hand away you see he’s got a leaf. Must have fallen onto your head as you were walking under one of the trees outside. 

“Can’t take you anywhere huh?”

Your jaw drops in mock outrage.

“Oh, it’s like that? See if I save you any flan after we eat dinner tonight. Maybe I’ll just give it all to Frankie,” rolling back on the balls of your feet, amused.

“M’sorry - I take it back. Please forgive me,” Garcia says playing along. 

You both stare at each other a beat before  erupting in laughter.

“Hey - you two coming to dinner or what?” Frankie yells from the kitchen. 

“Yeah, Fish - we’re coming,” you shout back while smirking at Garcia. You brush past Garcia, but not before grabbing his wrist, “Come on Pope. Let’s see if you play your cards right and maybe you’ll get a slice of that flan.”

You release your hold on Garcia and twist your head back to grin at him. Walking towards the kitchen, you can hear the rest of the guys making idol chatter about the game that was just on. 

Suddenly, two hands come up to wrap around either side of your hips. Santiago has snuck up from behind and is leaning into your side, mouth right up against your ear. 

“I never back down from a challenge,” he murmurs to you, before removing his hands from you and striding ahead, disappearing without a second glance. 

Sitting down around the table, your stomach starts growling. You didn’t realize how hungry you were until, you sat down and smelled all the delicious food. Frankie cooked tonight. so you know - it was going to be a good meal. 

You join in on the conversation, not noticing Santiago sitting down beside you. He usually sits opposite from you. Not wanting to make a big deal out of it, you simply carry on as usual. As you all pass the food around the table, you take a dish from Will who catches your eyes and makes a darting motion towards Garcia. 

You yank the plate from him, trying not to make a face at him - instead you simply shrug minutely. 

Miller just gives you an unimpressed look. 

You hold in an eye roll and pass the dish to Garcia after scooping some food onto your plate. Passing the dish over to him, you look over at Frankie, who is now staring at Will and you.  

Jesus Christ. 

This is going to be a long dinner.

----- 

[egcdeath]

ways to say i love you without saying “i love you”

pairing: steve rogers x reader

summary: you and steve explore love languages

word count: 5.1k

warnings: fluff, a little angst because of miscommunications, reader & steve being idiots, good intentions but terrible delivery, mentions of other characters

author’s note: this fic has been sitting unfinished in my drafts for so long. this fic is like, ancient. this fic was almost destroyed because it was briefly in the library of alexandria. when i reopened the document with this fic, there were mold spores growing on it. (p.s. steve’s love langauge is acts of service, and the reader’s is quality time)

you can find my masterlist and taglist here

Prologue

Steve was a multitasker. You knew this well. Perhaps too well.

That never seemed to bother you before, but if the man who was supposed to be taking a serene nature walk with you checked his goddamn flip phone one more time, you were completely sure that you’d lose it. 

You paused your story about your obnoxious coworkers for a moment, stopping in the middle of the gravelly trail you two were making your way down. 

“Steve, seriously, are you even listening?” you griped, ushering him towards the side of the pavement as a man on a bike flew by. 

He guffawed a bit at this, “of course I am. You just said something about…” he paused, and you gestured with your hands for him to continue. “Okay, sorry,” the blush on his face was becoming more and more apparent.

You involuntarily scoffed, rolling your eyes as you did so, “I’m glad to know that whatever you’re waiting for on there,” you gestured to his pocket, “is more important than spending quality time with your girlfriend, who, must I remind you, took time off to be here with you.”

“Nothing is more important to me than you, I’m just on call. I’m probably going to get called to go on a mission any moment now.”

“Steve!” you huffed, “you literally just got back, like, two hours ago. Can’t someone else go? Tony? Vision? Anyone?”

“I might’ve volunteered myself-“

“You’re unbelievable, Steve. Are you getting tired of me or something? You’ve been avoiding me like the plague ever since I moved in with you. If I upset you, or you’re gonna propose to me or something, can you just tell me?”

“I promise you it’s not personal at all,” he reached for your hand and gently held it. “Everything’s just been crazy. I mean, these Hydra bases have been popping up left and right. Just give me a little grace, okay? I don’t get upset with you when SHIELD starts making you work those ungodly hours.”

You opened your mouth to debate him, but surely enough, the canny and familiar ringtone of Steve’s work phone interrupted you before you could even begin. 

“Okay… Yeah. I’ll be there in thirty.”

You frowned at Steve as he spoke on the phone and shook your head disapprovingly, “unbelievable,” you muttered, storming in the direction of your home. 

——

Steve was no fool, he knew when he messed up, and he was more than willing to take responsibility for such. Now was one of those times. He knew that he should’ve been making more time for you. He was well aware that he shouldn’t have gotten defensive when you pointed this out. 

He just had no idea how to apologize.

You weren’t exactly making it easy for him either, taking much longer hours in an attempt to avoid him. While he could understand your frustrations, it became a little more difficult everyday for him to properly apologize to you in a way he felt was meaningful.

Eventually figuring to use your avoidance as a tool, Steve devised a plot to make an apology for you so considerate, so superb, that you could never be angry with him again. A plot that included a several course meal, all concocted by himself. 

He could imagine the look on your face as you came home from work, shocked, but the good kind of shock. Pleasantly surprised that your sweet boyfriend had put in such a huge amount of effort to say sorry. 

He couldn’t help but imagine the scenario: you would relax into your seat at the table after Steve pulled out the chair for you, hum in content as he poured your favorite wine. Moan happily at the taste of a homemade and rarely prepared salad dressing, before complimenting the melt-in-your-mouth entree he had spent an unknown amount of time laboring over. Finally, you’d gush over the dessert that Steve hadn’t had the chance to cook in years, tell him that he worked far too hard putting everything together, especially for a little argument. Steve would scoff, tell you you’re being too kind, and you would pull him in for a red wine and dark chocolate flavored kiss. 

The thought of you, your genuine and warm smile after a long day at work, and an even longer week worth of unspoken tension between you both, was enough to keep Steve motivated through the hours he spent preparing your meal.

He greeted you at the door like an excited puppy as soon as he heard your keys jingle. Sure, work had kept you a bit longer than he’d expected, and your food was likely a little cool by now, but he was excited to make amends. 

However, you did not seem to share the same enthusiasm as Steve. 

“Welcome home, gorgeous. Come sit,” Steve nudged you into the dining area, and you sluggishly followed, exhausted from a tiring day of training new agents.

“What’s wrong?” he inquired, pulling out a chair that you didn’t even attempt to sit down on. 

“I had a really long day. I kinda just wanna get to bed,” you shrugged before rubbing your creased temple.

Steve internally cringed at the thought of all of his hard work going to waste. For some reason, he’d not envisioned this less pleasant outcome before. “Sweetheart,” he began in a nearly whiny tone, but you weren’t in much of a mood to be persuaded.

“I’m sorry. Weird things were happening at work that I don’t care to get into now, and honestly, I’m not even that hungry,” you reached out and gave Steve’s hand a little squeeze. “But it all looks and smells so good! I Promise I’ll warm some up tomorrow for lunch.”

“I-,” he paused, “please. Maybe you could just take a few bites of everything. It took me a really long time to get everything prepped and ready.”

You frowned at the plea, feeling a bit guilty but almost… satisfied at the same time. Steve struggled to make time for you because of his work, and now he was getting a little taste of his own medicine. 

“I really am sorry. But hey, now we’re even?” you offered with a playful wink, slipping away before you gave your partner a chance to respond. You truly didn’t have the energy for a four course meal that night, let alone another argument. 

——

Wanda was silent for a moment as she sipped from a mug of coffee, watching you with a suspiciously focused look on her face. 

“Wanda?” you prompted, seemingly snapping her out of whatever trance she had found herself in. 

“Oh my God, I know exactly what you guys need,” she just about blurted, reaching across the café table to grab your hand. 

“Were you reading my mind?”

Your friend didn’t respond, but the devious smirk on her face was enough of an answer. 

“What happened to telling me before reading me?”

“You just looked like there was a lot on your mind. And absolutely no way that you’d tell me,” she shrugged nonchalantly.

“Of course I was gonna tell you! Why else would I ask my friend in a cute relationship to meet me for coffee?”

“Because you like me?”

“No, never that. I just needed advice,” the two of you shared a laugh for a moment.

“Well don’t waste your breath. When Vis and I had a rough patch, we just had to learn each other’s love languages. You’d be surprised just how much that synthezoid values those acts of services.”

“And you?”

“I’m a words of affirmation girl myself,” she shrugged. “You should find out yours, and try to figure out Steve’s. I guarantee it’ll be helpful in the long run. I can send you guys a test, if you want?”

“Oh god no, please don’t tell him that I told you about us. Actually, I didn’t even tell you! You were digging around in my brain, and I don’t appreciate that. Just do me a favor, and don’t share this with anyone, okay?” You paused dramatically, then leaned in to speak to your friend in a whisper, “but send me that test when you get the chance.”

Gift Giving

“A little reality-warping birdie told me you’ve been having some relationship problems,” Tony said teasingly once Bruce left the conference room, leaving him and Steve alone. 

Steve paused for a moment, trying to decide whether he should lie or fess up to the allegation. “How did she know?” Steve finally responded, standing up and pushing the chair he was sitting on behind him. 

Tony shrugged dismissively, “I don’t ask these kinds of things. I just hear in passing that the geriatric is having a hard time and tune in.”

Steve shook his head slightly, rolling his eyes to mask his clear embarrassment. 

“Well, is it true?”

“We’ve just been having the occasional… rift. A little more than occasionally.”

Tony nodded, fake pondering the situation, “well, I always know what I do for Pep, at least after I tell her I’m getting rid of the suit. Go buy her something nice. Really nice, like jewelry, or a purse if she’s into that kind of thing. I would say a car, but I know that Social Security check isn’t getting you too far. You know what? Put it on the company card. My treat.”

Steve wanted to scoff, turn his nose up at the offer like it was a terrible idea, but it really wasn’t. Maybe a material surprise was the way to win you back. He made a soft ‘hmph,’ noise as he mulled it over. “That’s definitely not your worst idea. Thanks,” he gave his teammate a soft smile before collecting himself and heading out of the conference room. 

His first stop after work was some local jeweler. Steve threw on a (not very) inconspicuous outfit before entering the building, where he browsed for a good hour, searching for something that he believed you’d like. After looking at more jewelry than he had ever cared to see in his life, he decided on a necklace with a thin golden chain with a decent sized diamond hanging off of it. It was a little pricier, and you’d be able to tell— but he hoped it would help the gift mean more to you. 

——

When you arrived home late that night, Steve was sitting in the living room waiting for you. It was almost daunting, the sight of him sitting alone on the couch mostly in the dark, only the television illuminating his face. He kind of reminded you of a parent waiting to confront their child who just snuck out, or a concerned friend seconds away from staging an intervention with you. 

Walking past the room, you peeked your head through the doorway, and observed the flat, small box in front of him on the coffee table. 

“Hey, Sweetheart,” he greeted, standing up so he could greet you with a hug and grabbing the little box as he did so.

“Is everything okay?” you probed, speaking into Steve’s shoulder.

“Of course. I just wanted you to know how much I love you, and that I’m sorry for not having as much time for you as I should,” he pulled away before holding the box out for you. 

You hesitantly took the box and opened it, letting out a gasp when you viewed the delicate looking gold necklace. 

You were having mixed emotions, because it was clearly beautiful and you were grateful to the gesture. But you knew that this must’ve been expensive, and that it was so unlike Steve to have done something like this. Your frugal, Great Depression era guy wasn’t exactly the most material. 

“I love it,” you gushed, admiring the jewelry. 

“Can I put it on you?” Steve asked, and received a nod in return.

Steve set the box down on the table and lifted up the necklace, bringing it up to your neck and focusing on clasping it in the back.

“Babe, how much was this?” you blurted, not even being able to filter the words before they left your mouth. 

“Hmm? That doesn’t matter,” he dismissed, then stepped away from you to admire your clavicle. 

“It just feels weird letting you spend so much on me.”

“It’s a gift, though. You’re not supposed to think about those things,” he hummed, pressing a chaste peck to your nose. 

“Steve, I got you a Nespresso for Christmas and you wouldn’t stop complaining about how expensive it was. I love it, I really do. It’s beautiful and I’ll always think of you when I wear it. I just think that maybe we should have the same standards for each other,” you stood up from your seat and sidestepped him. “I need a shower.”

Steve watched you walk off, letting your words simmer in his thoughts.

That was the last time he would take relationship advice from Tony. 

Words of Affirmation

This conclusion probably shouldn’t have taken you this long, but you were almost completely sure that this would be the love language to win Steve back over. You felt bad for some of the occurrences between the two of you lately, with sour exchanges and sweet moments that turned bitter on a whim.

In all honesty, you were concerned that Steve doubted your love for him. And if his love language really was words of affirmation, this would certainly convince him otherwise. 

You sat at your desk the night before Steve departed for a two-week mission, trying to write a nice message for him. You tapped your pen on the stock paper in deep thought as you tried to figure out the best thing to say. 

I’m sorry for arguing so much with you lately. You and everything that you do mean the world to me, even when you get on my nerves. I love you more than anything and that will never change. 

The words looked cramped and unkempt on the little note. Your handwriting got messier as you went. You groaned at it, crumpled the paper, and tossed it in your trash bin. Time to start over again.

I’m sorry for arguing with you. I love you a lot. Can you stop picking up your phone when we’re spending time together?

You groaned at the passive aggressive tone of your message. That certainly wasn’t going to get you anywhere. Straight to the bin it goes.

I love you so much so don’t die on your mission or I’ll be pretty upset. Be safe out there xx.

The tone was even more off now. You needed to think of something that would really make Steve remember you while he was gone. For a second, you considered snapping a nude with a polaroid and attaching it to the letter.

I’m sorry that things have been so bad nasty for us lately. I promise that I love you, despite our ups and downs. Nothing will ever change that. I’ll miss you more than you know while you’re gone. Make sure you call me every day, my love. 

A little cheesy, but you signed off with your name regardless, and contentedly looked at your work. The spacing looked correct, the tone wasn’t harsh, and you knew for a fact that Steve would appreciate it.

You stayed up a little later than normal, waiting for Steve to get home and change out of his ‘work clothes’ so that you could slip the note into his utility belt. 

You folded the note to a small little square and set it beside an granola bar in a pocket you’d assumed he frequently used. Content with your work, you laid back in bed until your partner slipped in bed beside you, and sleepily cuddled into you until you were both unconscious. 

—

Around two weeks had passed since Steve had seen you last, and he had decided to stop by the office and finish up paperwork before coming to see you. It had been radio silence on his end, despite the note in his clothing that clearly requested daily contact. Part of you wondered if Steve had seen it at all.

Steve had just finished signing the documents when he finally noticed it, reaching into a sparsely used part of his belt to have a quick snack. His hand landed on a folded piece of paper, and he cringed as he unfolded it, the letter becoming clearer and clearer as he did so. He wondered just how long the message had been waiting for him. 

He read your sweet words with a frown on his face, the guilt from not opening it sooner overriding the sweet feelings that he would otherwise have. He grabbed his phone and considered texting you, but abandoned that thought altogether. 

“FRIDAY, any idea where Y/N is right now?”

“I was told not to share any information about Ms. L/N, Captain Rogers.”

“Whose orders?” Steve pressed.

“Hers,” the bot quipped back. 

Steve groaned aloud. He was really in for it tonight.

Physical Touch

“Have you tried touching her more?” Thor casually queried. The water that Steve had just consumed nearly flew out of his nose, and his cheeks reddened instantly. 

“Pardon?” he asked, looking away from his friend instantly. 

“I understand that you and Y/N have been having troubles lately. Perhaps she does not feel held by you. Maybe she wants you to show her off in public, to hold her hand, hug her,” he suggested. 

Could Steve even be blamed for going there? He was having a chat with a god of fertility. Who wouldn’t think the same? 

“Stark’s gala tonight. Show the world that she’s yours, and I guarantee that she’ll love every moment of it.”

——

You were confused. Really confused.

The night began with some simple touches, hand holding as you entered the building, a casual arm around your waist as you chatted with donors and politicians you hadn’t seen in months, a playful match of footsie under the table while waiting for food. But it came to a head when Steve had decided to rest his hand on your ass and grope you in the midst of a conversation.

Now, in any other situation, you would welcome this affection. But both you and Steve had never been a fan of PDA, and this was a bit too far. 

As subtle as you could manage, you pushed his hand away, offering him a sour look as you did so. 

“Excuse us,” you told some rich old man in an artificially sweet tone before ushering Steve off to his office for a bit more privacy.

“What was that about?” you questioned, sitting down in the padded chair behind Steve’s desk, and running your fingers over your necklace in a bit of a nervous tick. 

“What do you mean?” he retorted, standing across from you at the desk and setting his hands on top of the clear table.

“Why were you groping me in front of people? That’s really... unlike you. And it made me uncomfortable.”

Steve frowned genuinely, looking down at the table in embarrassment. “I’m really sorry. For making you uncomfortable. It sounds ridiculous but I was just trying something new.”

“Apology accepted, but are you sure? You weren’t like, jealous of those guys or something? You know you’re the only hundred year old I have eyes for,” you set your hands atop of his and squeezed.

Steve chuckled at this, the flush of his cheeks only highlighted more by the laughter, “it’s just that, uh, Thor told me I should try showing you off more. Or something like that.”

“So you groped me in front of our guests? That’s silly. And a little unprofessional,” you glanced over at the cork board on his desk sitting next to his desktop, and amongst the neatly arranged scratched out to-do lists and random reminders, you couldn’t help but notice the creased paper of the note you’d left for his mission. Your chest warmed when your eyes fell upon it. 

“When did you find this thing?” you asked, pointing to the note. 

“I meant to say something, but when I found it, FRIDAY said you didn’t want to talk to me. SO I was going to bring it up when I got home, but you were still working. After that, I kinda… you know-”

“Forgot?” you finished with a hearty laugh, “It’s fine. You’re such a dork. C’mere so I can get my own groping in,” you chided, grinning to yourself when Steve wrapped his arms around you in a tight embrace. 

Acts of Service

Steve was quietly folding your laundry in your bedroom when it finally occurred to you, but when it did, it hit like a ton of bricks.

Steve’s love language was acts of service!

Things suddenly began to make sense to you, the way that he initially attempted to apologize by spending hours cooking one meal, how he consistently worked to make your life as comfortable as possible, and his great insistence to do house chores, despite you being more than capable.

Steve set down a stack of folded sweatshirts by your calf, snapping you away from your brief retrospective daze. If that really was the case, and Steve’s love language truly was acts of kindness, you had to come up with some sort of plan to communicate to him just how much you cared about him in a way that he really appreciated.

Luckily for you, you were a quick thinker. Before you even knew it, a week filled with random acts of kindness before he was off on yet another mission was quickly hatched.

——

You were up at the ass-crack of dawn. Really. Steve liked to get up earlier than the sun in order to run, or train, or whatever the hell it was that superheroes did. You were seriously regretting your decision to wake up around the same time as him in order to do some favors for him in the morning. 

By the time Steve was back from his run, his favorite coffee was brewed and cooling, and you were in the laundry room at the dryer, preparing to give Steve a warm towel after his shower.

Despite the three mugs of coffee you’d just downed, it was becoming more and more difficult to keep your eyes open. It didn’t help that your eyelids felt like they weighed fifty pounds each, and the warmth of the dryer next to you was providing you with just enough comfort to drift off.

And drift you did. In fact, half an hour later, you’d missed the frantic calling out for you from your boyfriend as he searched for you around the apartment. 

You finally awoke when he shook your shoulders, his amused voice bringing you back to consciousness. 

“What’s going on here?” Steve grinned, pushing some hair out of your face. 

“Mmm,” you began, “Iwantedtogetawarmtowel,” you slurred sleepily and incoherently.

“Even with super hearing I couldn’t decipher that. Let’s get you a mattress, okay?” Steve hoisted you up like you were nothing, and carried your half asleep body all the way up to your bedroom. 

The next thing you knew, you were buried under your favorite comforter and propped against a mountain of feathery pillows. A gentle forehead kiss and an incomprehensible sentence about calling off of work for you later, you were back in a deep sleep. 

So much for warm towels.

—

You were going to do better this time. That’s what you told yourself as you strolled through the grocery store, the same store that you hadn’t shopped in since moving in with Steve, as he preferred to do the shopping himself.

Equipped with a short paper list and sheer determination to make the trip as short and accurate as possible, you gathered all of the groceries that you believed were necessary— just enough to restock the fridge, and fill some gaps left in the cupboard. 

Your time at the store was indeed brief, as you found yourself in the checkout lane after just twenty minutes (you definitely weren’t going to brag about that to Steve later. Definitely not), and back home with just enough time to unload the groceries, and further prep yourself to go to work. 

You’d honestly forgotten about your trip to the store by the time that you arrived home, up until you found your boyfriend arm deep in your pantry, hellbent on finding… something.

“Can I help you?” you poked with a laugh, coming up beside Steve and peeking over his shoulder.

“I’m just… Did you happen to grab any protein bars while you were at the store?” he asked, pausing his search to look back at you.

“I don’t think so. Why? It’s not like you need any more protein,” you teased, squeezing a bicep to demonstrate your words.

“They’re pretty convenient when I’m out in the field. Don’t worry about it, though. I’ll just swing by the store and grab some before my mission tomorrow. Actually, I should probably go now. Y’know, before I forget,” Steve was already grabbing his car keys from the counter by the time his sentence was finished, leaving you to fight off your disappointment at your minor grocery store failure.

You looked at what you now knew was an insufficiently filled pantry and pinched the bridge of your nose. You had seriously underestimated the ins and outs of shopping for a super soldier. 

Well, third time’s the charm?

—

After this week, you would never complain about waking up early again. You were now up at an absolutely ungodly hour, scrambling eggs, flipping pancakes, and spreading jam on toast for a sleeping, unsuspecting Steve.

You placed the plate on a sturdy wooden tray, poured orange juice and an extra glass of water, and set a nicely folded napkin, along with utensils, next to the items.

You hoped that the scent of bacon wafting up to your bedroom would eventually pull him out of his slumber, and seeing how bacon was the only thing left to finish cooking, you took a little break. 

A round of Candy Crush turned into two, then three, and goddamnit, why can’t you beat this fourth level! You got so wrapped up in your mobile game that you didn’t even notice when the scent from your kitchen became slightly rancid, and when you rushed over to the oven to check on your now extremely burnt bacon, the smoke detector wailed.

You grabbed a kitchen towel and waved your arms like a madwoman near the smoke detector, the shrieking eventually stopping, but not before Steve was halfway down the stairs.

“Y/N, where are you? Is everything okay?” he nearly shouted, racing down the stairs and barreling through the smoky kitchen to find you. When he reached you, he wrapped his arms around your waist and began to pull you out of the kitchen. 

“Steve, relax. Everything is okay. Except those pieces of bacon,” you rubbed your now sweaty palms on your pajama pants before breaking away from him to crack open the kitchen window. 

“Christ, what happened? And why are you up so early?”

“I was trying to make you breakfast in bed,” you admitted, rather embarrassed by the dramatic scene you’d accidentally created. “Sorry,” you muttered.

Steve wrapped his arms around you once more, this time in a reassuring bear hug that left your cheeks pressed to his chest. “Don’t be. I really appreciate this, and everything else you’ve done this week. It’s the thought that counts, right?”

“I guess,” you mumbled into his shirt. 

“Besides, everything else looks delicious. And you tried your best for me while trying something new. I think that’s really sweet of you.”

“Really?” you pried, looking up at him.

“Really,” Steve confirmed.

“Well, I think it would be really sweet of you if you went back to bed and got all cozy so I can take care of you.”

Steve chuckled softly, pressed a little kiss to your nose, then nodded, “yes ma’am.”

Quality Time

Steve had been in a bubbly mood since getting back from his mission, and for no particular reason. It wasn’t like you weren’t happy that your partner was happy, but feeling like you were out of the loop was slightly concerning.

Before you could let your thoughts run too wild, you decided to pop the question during one of your evening walks. 

“Okay Steve, what is going on with you?” you asked, veering to the side of the trail when a biker rode past you. 

“Nothing big. Nothing too important. I’m just out of service for the next three months,” Steve said casually, playing it cool. 

“What?!” you paused, your brows raising and eyes widening in surprise as you searched his face for sincerity. “You’re serious?”

“Serious as a heart attack.”

“Steve!” you gasped happily, nearly roaring out his name in excitement. “Why didn’t you tell me earlier?”

“I was going to tell you before wining and dining you, but you beat me to it. So…?”

“…So I’m happy to have you back. I may need you to negotiate some time away from work for me in the next few months, then. I don’t wanna miss this preview of stay-at-home-dad-Steve.”

“Hey, don’t push it.”

“Oh, I’m planning on pushing it.” 

Epilogue

The sun was beating down on you, but the soothing breeze that flowed past your checked blanket every so often provided a pleasant antidote to the summer heat.

You’d truly picked the best day for a picnic.

Despite spending a good amount of time with your partner, the last month and a half had truly felt like a whirlwind. You casually started looking for a forever home, found yourselves making plans for an early retirement, and you had a new, sneaking suspicion that a proposal was on the horizon.

In the midst of it all, Steve had suggested that the two of you take a midday tryst at your local park and throw yourselves a little picnic. Of course you obliged, because when your greek god of a boyfriend suggests going on a spur of the moment date, you agree.

You now watched the nearly cloudless sky with pure, unadulterated feelings of content and joy while Steve set a slice of cheese on a cracker, leaning over your body to feed you. As you opened your mouth, Steve paused abruptly at the soft vibration coming from his pocket. 

Steve resumed as if nothing had changed, popping the cracker into your open mouth and letting his phone continue to ring.

“Don’t you wanna get that?” you questioned.

“It can wait,” Steve stated nonchalantly, slipping his phone out of his pocket and pressing decline with absolutely no hesitation before tossing the device to the edge of your blanket.

You didn’t realize how long you’d been waiting to hear those three words.

-------

a/n: this could’ve been solved in like 20 minutes by sitting down and taking a love language quiz together

[oopsimbug]

in which... y/n is just trying to put on eyeliner and harry is bored pt. two

a/n: when she’s back from a six month hiatus after making only ONE fic. wow, do i suck. for anyone who cares, school has been pretty rough. i’m actually procrastinating studying for an exam to finally upload this. it’s been pretty hard to balance both school and writing but oh well. anywho, here it finally is. it took so long to write because i wasn’t feeling very inspired by this. a lot of people asked for a part two and even though i kinda wanted to leave it on a sad note, i am a sucker for giving the people what they want, so sorry if this is a bit shit- i definitely don’t like this one myself. i guess i’m not one for fluffy endings. well, at least for this one i wasn’t. i really hope you enjoy it! more stuff to come, if school doesn’t mind fucking off for a little while (or maybe just forever?) xox -(a) bug

pairing: best friend! harry styles x reader

summary: Harry is worried about Y/n. Y/n is worried about Harry. Harry is solving it by thinking of ways to check on her, while Y/n uses cheesy pasta and the Fresh Prince of Bel Air as an excuse to not think. But what will happen when someone is at her door, and it’s not her delivery man?

warnings: angst, swearing, y/n and harry being idiotos, fluffy end, kissing

word count: 5.3k

It had been a week.

One gruelling, painfully long week.

Harry was biting his nails, staring up at the ceiling as he laid in his bed, worrying about her.

About how he fucked up.

He didn’t think that she would be upset for this long. He thought she would scream at him and then text him the following day, wanting to hang out- a silent “I forgive you”, he supposed.

But after two days of radio silence on her end, he decided to call her. The only problem was that her last words to him were “leave”. She wanted space. She needed to think things through- what things? Harry had no clue. But he had to respect her and her choice to not want him around. So with that, he put down the phone.

But a small part of him (okay fine, a big part of him), wanted her to just show up at his house so they could cuddle again, talking about the stupidest of things while they made cupcakes in his kitchen. They would be listening to groovy music and now and then, they’d stop mixing bowls and sifting flour to dance- well, they were horrible dancers, so more so just wave their hands, hips and shoulders around. It would be fun and would always end up with them laughing at one another. He would lick the batter and she would berate him, telling him that “one of these days, you are going to get salmonella and I’ll just laugh at your stupid ass” and he would retort with something witty and a bit flirty like “don’t worry darling, we both know you would be right at my side if I got sick. I know you can’t stand being apart from me” with a wink and a cheeky smirk. He just wants to see her in her oversized Space Jam hoodie and little basketball shorts. Or her short flower shirt and his sweatpants that she has to cuff at the bottoms because they’re too long. Or even-

He’s gotta stop thinking about her, or his brain will soon explode. But he just can’t stop. He tries to think of the happier moments, like her showing him a tour of her very healthy houseplants that she prides herself in, but every time he closes his eyes, all he can see is her teary face telling him to leave. So no, if he was given the choice to think of her flailing her arms around in his kitchen to dancehall tunes while making sweet treats or crying at something that he provoked, you bet your ass he’d choose the former.

But after the seventh day, he knew that something wasn’t right. This was too much “thinking time”. For all he knew, she could be fine, but she could also be positively bawling. She could be living for this free time, but she also could be waiting for him to make the first move. She could be wanting Harry out of her life for her benefit forever, but she also could be feeling lonely and counting the seconds for their makeup, just like he was.

That was it. He had to go see her and make sure his best friend was okay.

He practised what he was going to say to her in his car on the way to her apartment. “Y/n, I’m so sorry for how I acted. I didn’t stop to think about how you were feeling and didn’t take your emotions into account which was unbelievably wrong of me. I’m truly sorry. It’s just that I really care about you and you’re my best friend and I can’t see you choose a tinder fuck over me and if I saw him in the street I would knock his lights out and I just want to kiss you, can I kiss you, oh god please let me kiss you I just want to-“

Fuck, what was wrong with him? Why was he so upset? He had been on plenty of dates with other celebrities and models and she was always on the sidelines, cheering him on. So why was he getting so touchy-feely about a single tinder date? Maybe he was just in desperate need of attention. He hadn’t had a girlfriend for almost one year and casual fuck arounds also stopped about four months ago, so maybe he just needed to fuck someone quick. That would explain why he sees his best friend’s kindness and natural flirty nature as something more romantic. Every laugh at his jokes, every look in her eyes, every graze of her hand on his thighs as she leans over him to get her drink on the side table next to him, he becomes more switched on and awake. She leaves him feeling giddy and excited at every conversation. “This can’t just be because I’m horny right?” he cannot believe he would ever be that horny. What the hell was he going to do?

*

This is pathetic she thought.

I’m pathetic.

She let out a huge sigh before shoving another forkful of cheesy pasta into her mouth.

What am I doing?

The answer?

Eating carbs upon carbs upon carbs, lounging on her comfy sofa in the most comfortable, yet daggiest pair of pyjamas ever while watching reruns of The Fresh Prince of Bel-Air for the fiftieth time, actively avoiding all commitments, housework and jobs that involve moving further than to the kitchen, which even then was an embarrassingly burdening trek on its own.

But she let it slide. How could she not? She was upset and this was how she coped. That’s what she kept reminding herself as she boiled more and more pasta watching the days pass her by without realisation, but now, she’s beginning to question if this was the best idea. Pushing all thoughts of him out of her mind by not looking at her phone just in case he called or texted. But she was beginning to struggle.

It wasn’t his fault. He didn’t know what inner turmoil she was facing. He seemed genuinely hurt when she snapped at him. He truly didn’t understand why she took so much offence to the playground ribbing, it seemed. And she had to go be a dick and ignore him. He was probably worried sick. How many times would he have called to check up on her? 10? 15? The more she thought about it, the more she wanted this stupid feud to be over and just be in his arms again, even if it’s just as a friend. So she caved. Turned on her phone, expecting there to be at least a call or a text asking if she was still alive or not. And although she did receive a message of that likeness, it wasn’t from Harry, no. It was from her daily water tracking app, pleading her to fill in her daily intake of water so as to not die of dehydration after she was suspected to have not drunk any for the entire week when in reality, she was just too in her head to open her stupid phone and log her water.

Wow, she thought.

Now not only has Harry chosen to not speak to you, but you also look like a huge idiot right now. Of course, he wouldn’t want to talk to you! You got pissed at him for absolutely no reason and now he hates you. He’s gonna ask for his cardigan and track pants that he keeps at your house in case he wanted to sleepover. He’s going to take back all of his little knick-knacks that he leaves over, like the cute diffuser that he leaves because he knows you need it for your constant hay-fever that blocks your nose and then he’s going to declare that you aren’t friends anymore and then you will never get the chance to tell him how you feel and then-

Her panicky brooding is interrupted by a knock on the door.

“Who the hell could that be?”, she thinks. It was too late for it to be the postman with her package containing her entire Amazon wish list that she bought on the third day of mourning to make herself feel better. But it couldn’t be Mrs Xiao asking her if she had any holes in her shirts that needed stitching. The sweet old lady fell asleep at 8:37 pm sharp after her medicine that she’d take at 8:30 pm would kick in (which she learnt after spending nights over at her apartment where her niece, Mei, took care of her. Y/n would learn traditional recipes like baozi and watch movies with her two friends all the time). It couldn’t be Mei either, she was always in online uni lectures from 8:30-10:30 pm, locked away in her little study, so as to not bother or be bothered. So now, a little panicked, Y/n wondered who was truly at her door?

Another two knocks come, echoing off the walls of her little apartment as she turns down the volume of the program she was watching. She stares at the door from her couch, debating whether she should risk getting stabbed by a possible murderer or not, before ultimately deciding that life was too short. She was also getting sick and tired of the knocks that kept arriving in threes. She swings her legs off the couch and onto the floor, pushing them into her slippers so that her feet wouldn’t touch the cold floor, waddling her way to the door before shyly opening it, peeking at who it could be through the tiny crack in the opening, hoping whoever it was wouldn’t mind her current state: belly filled with pasta, hair knotty, giant shirt with sweatpants on and Harry’s patchwork cardigan hanging off her shoulders- which she had been wearing all day, cherishing the pretty piece of clothing and his scent imbedded in it, taking it all in just in case he asks for it back. She peeps at the torso of this mystery person, realising that Harry owns the jumper worn by them, before looking up and locking eyes with a worn out and tired eyed Harry, one hand in the pocket of the familiar hoodie and another extended out near the door, ready to knock again before freezing when it opens up all the way to show herself to her best friend. He doesn’t eye her up and down cheekily like he normally does when she is wearing pyjamas, wolf-whistling at her relaxed state, claiming that “You look runway-ready, my love! Do a twirl for the crowd, will you?”. Instead, he stares her right in the eyes with what looks like almost relief, before smiling a weak and broken smile.

One of them needed to break the silence or both would have just stared at each other in her doorway until the world exploded. So she starts.

“Hi.” her voice hovers a tinge above a whisper, almost as though if she dared to speak louder, this probable illusion of the one she loves would fade away. He lights up a little bit, probably relieved that she started the conversation.

“Hey,” his soft voice matched her volume and tone as if he too didn’t want this to be a dream. “May I come in?” The words sound awkward to her coming out of his mouth. Harry never had to ask for permission to be invited in- he usually just strolled in without so much as a holler to indicate he was present, finding amusement in scaring her instead while she was doing whatever she was doing, whether that be reading, watching a movie, cooking or napping. They were the best of friends and never had to inquire about entry to each other’s domains, along with other small things like if they had anything in their kitchens to eat or if they could sit somewhere, so hearing it was a little disheartening and provoked Y/n to think about how serious this situation was.

“Okay”, she replied after the pause of contemplation, opening the door fully so that the lanky boy could follow along behind her, like a little puppy. She didn’t like how awkward the situation was. She just wanted things to go back to what they were.

But then you wouldn’t be able to tell him you love him... her inner voice argued. And she agreed. She knew that yes, this will be awkward, but it’s an opportunity for him to listen to her and know that she isn’t joking.

“Would you like some tea?” She enquires. They’ll need to handle this like proper grown-ups (which in all honesty, isn’t their dynamic- it’s more like first-year uni students who are mature enough to have deep conversations but still laugh at dad jokes and anything remotely serious, like a painting with boobs), and from what she knows, or has seen in movies when the characters are being serious, is that you need tea or a drink of that sort and a sit down on the couch where you talk stuff out. So that’s exactly what she does.

“Yes please,” Harry’s soft voice replies as he toes off his boots that most definitely cost more than her apartment. Y/n nods and heads to the small kitchenette and flips the switch on the electric kettle before going into her cupboard that housed the mugs. Harry stood awkwardly near the sofas, and to save him the embarrassment of waiting while standing, Y/n invites him to sit with a small, “You can take a seat,” and a quick glance at him before returning her gaze to the mugs to make herself look busy. She didn’t want to look him in the eyes for more than three seconds in fear of bursting into tears and the worn out and tired sight of him. She shakes the thought out of her head and begins to prepare the mugs.

Y/n put two teabags in her mug while putting one in Harry’s. She was raised in a household of avid tea drinkers and she inherited her strong tea quirk from her father who would always keep two teabags with only a dash of milk, and the only difference between her tea and her fathers was that Y/n wasn’t strong enough to take her tea without sugar, unlike her father, who thought that drinking unbelievably concentrated leaf juice with milk was a fun and relaxing time. On the other hand, Harry liked to keep one tea bag in his mug while he drank it, but just like her father, he too took little to no sugar with his cup, being the health freak he was. And early in their friendship, when she mentioned it to him, Harry chuckled and chirped, “Your father is a smart man. He has to be for raising amazing and talented people like your siblings. I’m not sure what went wrong with you though...” while booping her nose as they laid together under a tree for a little picnic. And though she rolled her eyes at him and punched his shoulder for the sly dig at her, she was practically beaming at the fact that he thought her family was smart. Harry had no idea how much that meant to her. Y/n loved her entire family, and she was unbelievably close to them, so it made her entire week to know that Harry, someone she respected and loved so much, recognised how talented and smart each of her family members were. Don’t get her wrong, she didn’t need the validation to know that her family was amazing, but she felt so special knowing he took the time to notice. He did that a lot though. Doing things that meant a lot to her without batting an eye. Saying things that only a person as observant as he could notice, like complimenting her eye colour in the light and asking her to read for him because he constantly mentions how much he loves her voice.

Y/n looked over to the same sweet guy she fell head over heels for, who was sitting on her couch, fidgety as ever, and wondered if they would ever be the same after the very next moments to come. She didn’t want things to change between them, but she was dying inside knowing that he wasn’t hers. And getting over him was not in the question, after the fiasco that happened last week. She just wished she could get inside his head to sate her painful curiosity.

What is he thinking about?

**

What is she thinking about?

It’s the million-dollar question running through his mind. What was she pondering over as she made them tea? Did she want to talk to him? Was she mad that it took him so long to find the balls to face her? Was she as nervous as he was? Was she worried that they would never be the same again like he was?

He was going into panic mode, questioning everything, while probably looking stupid as ever. As much as he regretted how awkward things were now, and the fact that he instigated her to lash out at him a week ago, he was realising that he was not regretting the fact that he did it. He didn’t want her to go out with someone else, and she didn’t. And yes, of course, he feels bad-beyond bad, in fact- for making her cry, and wishes he could take it all back, he also sees this as an opportunity to tell her how he feels about her. He could finally tell her that he thinks about her all the time. About her soft smile, her bright eyes, her melodic laugh, her speaking voice that brings butterflies to his stomach. He could tell her about how he loses himself at work, the grocery store, fuck- even at events- thinking about what she was doing at her house. Was she under her blankets on her couch, watching some corny tv show? Was she baking her signature choc chip cookies that taste like the gods blessed every single biscuit on the tray before they were put in the oven? Was she knitting her cat, Chesnut, another rug to plonk herself down on, with her feet up on the ottoman as she listened to the 7 o’clock news on the radio? Was she writing a paper for another deadline? Something so sophisticated, like the exploration of white and male privilege and how it is ingrained in our society? Something that Harry tried to understand and research so that he could stay in the loop with his smart girl’s interests, but he always struggled with.

It was a huge insecurity of his. Not that his best friend was smarter than he was, no way. He treasured the fact that she could and would whip his ass at a debate on things like the state of the world, or human rights. She could school him on global politics, languages, maths, science, history and literally anything else, and he would be cheering her on. What he was insecure about was her realising that he was probably slowing her down in life. Y/n was well within her rights to kick him out of her life for being nothing but a freeloader and stopping her from reaching her full potential, what with him constantly stopping her from her own life to help him go through shit happening in his. Whenever he was sad, or confused, or upset, Y/n was the first person he would talk to and he feared that she would realise that he was probably taking advantage of her and stop talking to him. And that scared him. It scared him because he knew that she didn't need him at all, but he needed her to do anything in life. Every major and minor decision in his life has been approved by Y/n first, and not because she was a controlling friend who didn’t trust him with his own life, but because Harry needed her validation. Harry Styles, a world-famous superstar, had girls, guys and non-binaries at his feet, following his every beck and call. Harry Styles, who was on the cover of every magazine, known by every celebrity, dated only the most perfect of women, required validation from Y/n, a psychology major at a small university. Y/n, who liked to plan her day out on a to-do list, end up not doing anything on that to-do list and cry about it afterwards. Y/n, who breaks it down to “Murder She Wrote” by Chaka Demus & Pliers like it’s her last 4 minutes and 5 seconds alive on this Earth while making pancakes. Y/n, who cries more when she’s laughing while watching Tik Toks than she does during sad movies.

To celebrities, Y/n was nothing but a regular. But to Harry, she was all. She was the warmth of a sweater that you toss in the dryer for a few minutes to make it extra toasty. She was the pad of butter that you spread onto your pumpkin sourdough toast and it ends up being exactly the amount you wanted. She was the feeling when you are driving home from a long day of interviews and premiers, and you’re on the freeway and the windows down and you just… exist. She is the feeling you get when you watch Pride and Prejudice, and the relief of when you find the perfect word to end a lyric. She is when your shoes fit perfectly, and when you finish a book so utterly fulfilling that you lie there in a trance, looking up at your ceiling at 3 am, wondering how you could have been so lucky to be able to be blessed with an ending like the one you just read. Y/n was all those things and more.

And that’s why he had to tell her he loved her. No matter how scared he was.

***

The electric kettle is finished boiling the tea all too quickly as the bubbling comes to an end and the distinct click of the switch turning back off echoes around the silent apartment. Y/n had poured the scalding hot water into the two cups she had prepared stared into them.

It was time. She had tried to avoid this for as long as possible, but now it was the moment to face the music. She picked up the two mugs of tea and brought them to her lounge where Harry was sitting on her worn in green sofa, staring at her coffee table, eyebrows scrunched, pouted lips, deep in thought, before looking up at her with wide green eyes, and followed her to where she stood in front of him. She passed his mug to him before sitting on the comfy chair a few feet away from the sofa and from him, putting some distance in between them for her sake, so that she wouldn’t try to hug him and say sorry without saying what she needed to say first. Which she needed to start talking about now, so as not to sit in the awkward silence created by the two.

Say something!!

“So…’

Jesus fuck…. was that all you could think of? Wow. I am going to lose my best friend.

Y/n was choking.

“I am so sorry,” Harry’s voice intercepts, raspy from the lack of use, looking up from the coffee table he seemed so interested in. “I am so fucking sorry Y/n. I have no excuse as to why I was making fun of you that day. I pushed too far and I am a shit friend for not noticing that you were already on edge. It was so wrong of me and I am so sorry.” He stopped himself before he started to ramble, looking at her with eyes filled with an emotion she couldn’t decipher.

Y/n felt… unsatisfied. Why did she feel this way? He apologised, right? So why does she feel unfulfilled? Why does she want him to say more? He hit all of the points he had to for a standard apology, so why did she think he hadn’t done enough? Was it that little optimist in her brain hoping he would maybe reveal a slight attraction to her? Maybe tell her that he loves her, and has loved her forever and ever? Confess that she has bewitched him, body and soul so that she didn’t have to? God, was she an idiot. But a lovestruck idiot at that. She bites her tongue and replies.

“Harry, I forgive you. Although you were annoying as ever,” She rolls her eyes and smirks, while he lets out a breathy, half-assed chuckle, showing his acknowledgement at her attempt to ease the lowered yet still prevalent tension. She continues. “ I understand that you were just trying to have fun. I guess I was the one who irrationally lashed out . I am always okay with you poking fun at me, but I was just frustrated and tired and I took it out on you. I’m sorry for the improper communication and I’m sorry for pushing you away when we should’ve just talked…”

“I forgive you too. I think this was just miscommunication on both parts.” He stared into her eyes, almost as if he could sense the discontent in her, but chose to ignore it.

“I guess so.” She halfheartedly answered, not really knowing where to take the conversation next. They had both apologised, but evidently still had things to say. Well, Y/n had things to say, that’s for sure, but she was pretty sure that Harry wanted to say something too. He had that look on his face where he wanted to say something but was forcing himself not to.

What does he want to say? Why can’t he say it to my face? I mean, sure, I’m also hiding shit I wanna say, but I have an excuse. This could ruin our friendship. What does he have to say?

“Great,” Harry replies, trying to fill the awkward pauses and conversation that is being held. He still looked like he had something to say, but seemed like he was not budging.

Well, if he’s not saying anything, I’m not either. Why do I have to confess my feelings and put our friendship on the line if he isn’t even going to say what’s on his mind?

“So, are we good?”

“I don’t know. Are we? I mean, I forgive you and you forgive me, right?”

“Right… No yeah, we’re alright. We’re completely fine!” Y/n replies quickly. Why the fuck would you say that? You’re not fine.

There is a pregnant pause and Y/n has half a better mind to just get up, walk to the bathroom again with her head down and lock herself in there till he leaves again, because she cannot take this awkward conversation. Not with him. She shifts, ready to stand up to get some water, when Harry looks at her, confusion and slight panic setting into his face.

“Wait. I don’t think I’m fine…” She looks up at the boy sitting in front of her, reading the words from her mind like they were scribed on a piece of paper in the blackest of ink, permanent and bold. Her heart stuttered. What else did he want?

“Is everything okay, H?” she tentatively asks. He loses eye contact with her, gaze lowering towards the table in front of him

“I-” he pauses, trying to collect his thoughts while simultaneously trying to explain to her why he wasn’t okay. “I just- fuck” his head falls down, his face inches away from the hot tea in his hands, the humid steam billowing out of the mug and warming his elegant face as he takes a deep breath and tries once more to convey his thoughts. “I don’t want us to be friends again.”

Her heart stops. This could go one of two ways. He could either be confessing his hatred or his adoration for her, and either one would probably end with her imploding. She tries to take a neutral tone when she replies.

“What does that mean, H?”

He looks at her once more. “It’s not enough, Y/n... “

“What?” She is confused. Her friendship isn’t enough? How is she supposed to reply to that?

“I want more. I don’t want us to just be friends. I want to be more with you. I want to do more with you. I want to do things that friends… they shouldn’t do together…”

Is he trying to confess he likes her? Why, in all the ways you could speak, would he choose to speak like that?! She has had enough of him dawdling around his feelings. “Harry, stop being cryptic and fucking tell me what’s going on?!”

“I love you, Y/n! I fucking love you, Y/n. So much. And it is eating me from the inside out. I hate that we can’t be normal anymore, and I hate that you don’t love me the way I love you, but I cannot sit here and pretend everything is fine, because I love you.”

Y/n is stunned. Frozen in her spot. Can’t move, can’t speak, can’t breathe. Stuck in space, and stuck in time.

Holy fucking shit… he loves me…

While Y/n processes the life changing knowledge that her best friend loves her, her best friend conveniently sits next to her, wishing that he was dead for the letdown he was about to receive.

“Say something… please, for the love of God, say something!”

****

She looks up at Harry. Not Harry Styles, playboy, whore, singer, millionaire, but instead; Harry, her best friend of five years, reddened face out of embarrassment. She sees the mortality in his eyes. Feels his presence so heavily in the moment. She is in awe. True awe of him, and his ability to love her. And with that awe- and that stupid look on her face, she reaches up and cradles his face in her hands, brushing her thumbs softly over his plush pink lips. He stands just as still as her, barely breathing, as if it would shatter the fantasy to stardust and he would wake up in his bed, cold shivers running down his spine, as has happened previously whenever he thought of this moment, staring up at his ceiling at 3:40AM wondering why he thought of his best friend in such a way. She creeped closer to his face before stopping a breath away from him, and whispered.

“Is this okay?”

She looked into his eyes, and he looked into hers, both never feeling so alive before. He wishes to tell her that she needn’t ask for his permission, and that he wants to kiss her forever. Eternally locked in an embrace that holds their souls together. But all he can muster is a weak and broken whisper back.

“Please,”

She can hold it for no longer, and leans in the rest of the way, their lips moulding together, for the very first time, eyes fluttering close, as his hands reach to grab her by the hips to straddle him, deepening the kiss even further. And when they part for breath, panting for air with slightly moist lips, they touch foreheads, eyes still closed. Words needn’t be exchanged- everything that yearned to be said was useless, as it could never describe how they truly felt for each other. So hopelessly besotted with one another, that all they could do was breathe together before kissing once more, hoping that their actions could provide even an iota of an idea of how much they love one another.

Two best friends, turned lovers forevermore.

[safertokiss]

Through a Different Lens

A/N: Well, well, well. Lookie what we have here. New content wowza. I’d say I’m surprised it’s been a while, but I simply am not. Luckily another fic swap has arrived to get my creative juices flowing once again. The gods have gifted me with another perfect opportunity to write sub spence because I was given @writing-in-april as my person yet again. Hooray! Anyways I hope you enjoy and thanks all you cool cats and kittens for the support (we almost to 1000 yeet skrrt). Also, it just happens to be my birthday today so as a gift to myself I thought about subby Spencer for a while.

Pairing: SPENCER x READER

Category: SMUT and can’t forget that fluff

Word Count: 3.2k

ENJOY:)

~~~

It all started completely by accident.

There was no possible way that she would’ve been able to predict just how much they would affect the poor kid. 

She could remember, clear as day, the first time she was forced to wear her glasses to the bureau due to her ongoing frustrations with the torture devices that were also referred to as contacts. There were only so many headaches and eye-waterings that she could take before the insecurity of wearing her frames to work shriveled below the point of caring anymore. 

But none of those previous insecurities held a flame to the amount of confusion she felt when she entered the bullpen and waltzed over to Spencer’s desk to say good morning with a shy smile adorning her face. Y/n hadn’t even been able to get a complete sentence out before the young doctor had turned to her and froze, his mouth hanging open like a fish, his eyes widening to the size of dinner plates, the harsh red blush she had seen before, just maybe not to this extent, engulfing his boyish features. 

Before she could even attempt to ask him what she had done to warrant such a response, he was spouting out a meager, “H-hey Y/n” whilst simultaneously scurrying off in the direction of the nearest bathroom.

Completely and utterly perplexed over what had happened, she had shrugged it off and made her way back to her desk, silently mulling over the interaction periodically throughout the rest of the day. 

It was a couple of the same type of interactions later that Y/n began to take notice of what was actually happening with the boy genius. The stiff and unnatural posture. The stuttering, granted that wasn’t something new, just much more frequent and severe. The audible heartbeat always accompanied by rosy cheeks and goosebumps. 

Spencer Reid was fucking turned on by the glasses.

And he didn’t even try to hide it. Or maybe he did and was just really, really bad at doing so.

Either way, Y/n quickly discovered just how much fun it was getting these reactions to pour out of the kid...so of course she kept wearing the glasses even after she was able to wear contacts again. He didn’t need to know that. 

It was so fucking easy too. 

She would just be sitting at her desk, occupied by some particularly troubling pages of a case file that makes her have to readjust her frames out of stress, when she’d hear a high pitched squeak across the bullpen, followed by the pattering of frantic footsteps she had familiarized herself with in former few weeks. 

While she felt some kind of guilt for putting him through this, it was nowhere near enough to overtake the genuine excitement and gratification that came with knowing she could have such an effect on the adorable doctor.

Of course she found him attractive...how could she not with his perfectly sculpted cheekbones and nerdy slicked back hair. Ultimately Y/n could understand his apparent infatuation with her wearing glasses as she had caught herself, on more than a couple occasions, openly ogling his own specs. 

Maybe they were both weirdos...the whole situation was almost as strange as the Converse kink that she secretly harbored for years. Although her intuition was quick to suggest that, just maybe, both of her unique infatuations stemmed from the same noodle-shaped source.

Perhaps her favorite reaction of his, though, came about during the little office birthday party that the entire team had thrown for him.

He looked so adorable in the gigantic birthday cake hat they had bestowed upon him, Y/n could hardly contain her giggles at the giddy smile adorning his face. She watched on in amusement as Spencer tried desperately to get the candles on his cake to extinguish, to no avail, at least until someone felt bad watching his struggles and decided to give him a hand.

“They’re trick candles Spence, they’re gonna come back on every time.”, JJ chuckled, subtly smirking at Morgan who was also enjoying Spencer’s ongoing struggles. 

A couple “happy birthdays” later and the rest of the team slowly began to disperse, leaving just Y/n and him alone in their own little space. He must’ve noticed this too because the blush that had already been present throughout the celebration beforehand seemed to deepen even further as he visibly swallowed down his nerves.

Slowly stalking towards the rouge kissed boy, she dragged a couple of her fingers across the surface of the desk, noting the way his eyes briefly flicked down to follow the movement before hesitantly returning his gaze to match her own. 

She also noted the way his knuckles were basically turning white from the amount of pressure he was using to grab the sides of the chair.

“You have a good birthday, Spence?”, Y/n drawled with a teasing smile, now standing directly before the trembling young man.

Seeming to snap out of whatever sort of trance he had been in, he hastily cleared out his throat before responding with a bit of trepidation. “Hmm...yeah-yes uh yes it was v-very good, than-thank you.”

She couldn’t even attempt to conceal the smirk that had made its way to her lips listening to the genius stutter through his words. Such a nervous, nervous boy. So adorable. So fucking hot. 

“Well that makes me happy. I’m glad you enjoyed yourself pretty boy.”, she paused her thoughts soaking in the little hitches in his breath surely from how close she was standing near him and the added nickname. Deciding to play a little bit dirty, she leaned over directly into his line of sight to reach for the cake set before him.

 “Now how about I take this away and cut it up for all of us to eat? Hmmm?”

His eyes darted immediately to the cleavage that was so graciously presented to him as she bent over to pick up the dessert, a sharp little gasp escaping his pretty, pink lips as his pupils dilated carelessly. 

Y/n inwardly smirked at his reaction and began walking towards the kitchenette, but only made it about three or four steps before being interrupted. 

“Did you know that in some instances birthday candles are safe for wax play?”, he exclaimed before seemingly realizing what had just escaped his lips, his hands flying up to cover his traitorous mouth. 

Bewildered, in the best of ways, by what had just been said, she slowly swiveled back around, facing him once again, before placing the cake on the desk beside her. 

“What was that Spencer?”, she grinned at the petrified man who hadn’t made a single noise since his unexpected declaration. The poor thing looked like a caged in animal with nowhere to escape. Perfect.

“N-nothing! I m-mean obviously it was um s-something, but j-just uh just forget what I s-said.”, he quickly explained while frantically shaking his hands as if he was hoping he could simply wipe your memory of the last minute or two away permanently.

“No, no please go on.”, she teased. “Now I’m intrigued. What did you mean by ‘in some instances’ Spence?”

She wasn’t expecting the look of confusion, however brief it was, that peeked its way through the overwhelming embarrassment that had been showcased on his face, as if he truly couldn’t fathom that someone was actually asking him to go into more detail about a topic. 

Still didn’t change the fact that he was completely mortified.

Clearing his throat, he hesitantly lifted his gaze back to Y/n’s, seemingly debating with himself over whether he could articulate the words to come out or not. 

“Um...well..usually many p-people who choose to e-engage in such act-activities will use specific types of c-candles that are uh more designed especially for pl-play.”, he paused and she drank up the way his Adam's apple bobbed along his throat. “Uh… basically depending on the t-type of candle that one u-uses, the amount of pain or um d-discomfort differs. B-birthday candles tend to b-be on the more painful side so only the couples who are in-into that kind of thing would ever really utilize t-them.”, he finished abruptly, his leg bouncing rapidly in her line of vision.

She still couldn’t really believe she had actually gotten him to say anything at all, nevermind an in depth analysis on wax play. In a weird way she was proud of him. Really proud. Sometime amidst her thoughts, she’d found herself standing directly behind his sitting figure, her hands resting on either side of him against the table, the goosebumps visible on his skin from the implications of the position they were currently in.

“That’s really intriguing Spencer. I’d love to find out someday just why it is you know so much about the subject, but I don’t want to make you go into cardiac rest anytime soon.”, she remarked, giggling at the shy smile that made its way to his mouth.

She didn’t even register reaching out to lightly touch his lips until she heard his sharp intake of breath. Until he turned his head so they were mere centimeters apart. Until she watched his puppy eyes dart between her lips and your frame covered gaze. Until the space between them seemed to be lessening with every sec-

“Hey pretty boy! Where’s my cake?”

Y/n grudgingly pulled back at the interruption, watching in amusement as Spencer’s body instinctively leaned forward as if his lips hadn’t gotten the memo and were still searching for hers. “It’s coming right up you lazy ass!” she yelled back with a grin on her face.

She looked back to the boy sitting before her and was almost mesmerized by the dazed look present on his face, the blush slowly retreating as he came back to his surroundings. She could tell there were words that he wanted to say, but they just didn’t seem to be forming fast enough to actually come out. Deciding to put their little moment on hold before he passed out, she walked back over to the neglected dessert and started heading towards the break room again.

“I’ll make sure to save you the biggest piece, Spence.”,she threw over her shoulder, chuckling at the bewildered look still that was still present on his face.

~~~

The day was a big success in her opinion. 

Spencer looked even more like a child than usual with the big shit eating grin that remained throughout the celebration and the bulky hat that he refused to take off. She could never understand how someone could have such an affinity for sugar as she watched him devour the huge slice of cake she had carved up for him.

But hours later, it was just her and Spencer left in the building. 

And she was not about to let that go to waste.

Y/n could see him from where she stood at the entrance to the kitchenette. She could see the way he slouched over his desk with his legs curled underneath him, criss cross applesauce, as he scribbled down whatever case file he was working on. She admired his determined work ethic, that’s for sure.

But now was simply not the time to work.

Spencer immediately froze as soon as her body situated itself to be leaning against his desk, painfully aware of her gaze on his tense form. 

“H-hey Y/n.”, he nervously murmured, the stutter once again making her giddy.

“Hey yourself doc. Wanna tell me why it is you’re still here working at such a late hour? Doesn’t the elusive Spencer Reid have better things to be entertaining himself with?”, she drawled, her piercing gaze making the poor kid squirm before her eyes.

“Oh um no...n-not really. I actually don’t mind working late. It’s k-kind of therapeutic in a way. But um...I’m happy t-that you’re here w-with me.”, he whispered the last part as if he was scared you wouldn’t appreciate his gratitude.

But she appreciated it more than he knew.

Noticing the little pencil holder situated amongst the file stacks on his desk, an idea popped into her mind that she just couldn’t shake, prompting her to pick it up and begin fiddling with it.

“Oh is that so pretty boy? Does my presence satisfy you?” Before he could even attempt an answer she “accidently” dropped the holder on the ground, the array of pens and pencils dispersing among the floor. “Oops my bad.”

Spencer immediately scrambled out of his seat and onto the floor to start collecting the colorful writing utensils, the perfect distraction needed for Y/n to situate herself on his desk with her legs spread open directly in front of his face. 

“D-don’t worry abou-”, his sentence cut off as he looked up and was met with the tantalizing sight of her white lace panties already damp with her excitement. She swore he could die happy with the way his eyes widened and cheeks flushed. She couldn’t help but chuckle lightly.

“See something you like baby?” Unable to even form words, the young doctor slowly nodded his head, eyes still locked on the obvious wet spot between her open legs.

“C-can I..can I um…”

“Use your words baby boy. Can you what?”, she spoke clearly, grasping his chin so he’d look her in the eyes.

“C-can I taste you?” She couldn't get over the desperate way he spoke as if he’d die of thirst if he didn’t get a drink from her.

“Of course you can sweet b-” Not even letting the words leave her mouth, his hands were eagerly pulling her panties down and off her legs, his lips instantly connecting with the heated flesh at the apex of her thighs. She swore his tongue and lips were enchanted with the way he was able to effortlessly maneuver his way around, easily picking up on what she loved. 

“Oh Spencer you’re such a good boy.” she couldn’t resist  threading her fingers through his silky hair and tugging slightly, an action she assumed he enjoyed based on the muffled whine she heard from between her thighs. 

It hadn’t even been more than a few minutes before she found herself already on the verge of letting go. No guy had ever been able to make her feel this good and just electric until now. He was quickly ruining her for anyone else in the future. She did not mind in the slightest.

“Baby I really wanna feel you inside me. Is that something you want sweetheart?”

He reluctantly pulled back after a few more kitten licks to her clit, wide eyes finding hers and whimpering out a broken “yes”. More than happy with his response she gently pulled him up by his hair and started undoing his belt, his oversized pants easily falling down without the extra support. Just another thing about him that she had come to adore. She was very pleased by the obvious bulge that protruded through his baby blue checkered boxers. 

Before she pulled those down too, though, she very gently reached up and cupped his cheeks, guiding his plump lips to her own, basking in the delighted whimpers that escaped his mouth at the soft but passionate contact. She released his lips with a slight nip and proceeded with his clothing removal, coaxing him to sit down in the swirly chair he had been previously residing in, before straddling his lap. 

“You ready sweet boy?”, she asked leaning forward to kiss his rouge forehead and cheeks.

“Mhmm I’m r-ready.”

Taking that as the go ahead, she cautiously positioned herself over his throbbing erection before slowly lowering herself inch by inch until he was completely enveloped by her tight, warm walls. 

“Oh-ohh my.”, he whimpered at the overwhelming feeling of being connected so intimately. Gently, she started to move a bit more, hesitantly lifting up before lowering herself back down, flush against his lap, one of her soft hands anchoring herself to his shoulder while the other caressed his flushed cheeks.

“I know baby, I know. You feel so good baby boy I don’t think I’m going to be able to last much longer.”

“M-me neither.”, he stuttered as the pace she had previously set seemed to increase in speed, the excitement and ecstasy getting to the both of them and subconsciously pushing the two of them closer to their shared release. 

The fire was quickly building within her body and she knew she was truly crumbling at the seams, but with the way his body was trembling and his dick was subtly twitching inside of her she knew he was right there too.

“It’s ok baby boy, it’s ok. Cum for me sweet boy. I want you to cum inside and fill up my pussy Spence.”, she muttered feeling the beginning of her end crash unexpectedly throughout her entire being, grasping onto the boy underneath her to tie herself to the earth. 

Overwhelmed by the utter euphoria of Y/n cumming around him, Spencer let himself get thrown off the edge, his hands tightening on her waist hard enough she was sure little bruises would form come tomorrow, not that she minded at all.

“Oh Y/n!” She watched on, obsessed with the way that his mouth fell open in a little o-shape as his eyes squeezed shut, the tell tale signs of pleasure coursing through his veins, the warm feeling that he left deep inside of her as she gently lifted herself from his shaking legs, reaching for her panties before the warmth was able to escape down her damp thighs.

Looking back at the trembling boy after cleaning herself and him up, she couldn’t help but melt at the lovesick, puppy dog eyes he was giving her, prompting her to lean forward and leave more little kisses on the top of his damp hair.

“That was incredible Spence. Really incredible. I’ve never felt anything like that before baby.”

She melted even further at the way he shyly dropped his head to somewhat hide the wide grin that had spread like wildfire across his face. There was a comfortable silence between the two of them before his head lifted with a questioning glance.

“How’d you-I mean uh how did you know that I liked you?” There was no way she could control the giggles that left her lips at his silly question.

“You weren’t exactly subtle with the whole glasses thing Spence.”

And then the only sound heard throughout the building was her full blown laughter at the mortification that speedily adorned his cherry cheeks.

Tag List: @hopebaker @pastathighs @psychedellic-phase @gloryekaterina @sleepysnapesnake @racharr @etherealgubler @furiouspartyrebelhoagie @andiebeaword @liaabsurd @cielo1984 @starkeybaby @victomizedbyreginageorge @rainsong01 @moonlight-jukebox @gretaamyk @httpnxtt @rachelxwayne @watermelonstyl @goldnratio @cheyxminds @kricketc29 @cupcake525 @pinkdiamond1016 @slutforthegubes @shadyladyperfection @emilysallysmith @babblingbrookex @legendaryanimeaestheticclou @sunstspidey @ashwarren32 @pixels-impulse @eviewildflower @spencerreider @awkwardsadaa @dirty-pan-goblin @ughgoaway @cromies90-blog @mightaswell247 @calm-and-doctor @golden-hoax @1mpvls3 @lonewolf471 @centiaaa @spencerspecifics

[coldmorte]

bro i'm a sucker for soft Vandermorgan....dutch reading while arthur sketches.....leaning on eachother.....dutch reaching over to rub arthur's back every few pages........running his hand through arthur's hair...soft k*sses and giggling...

Howdy, anon! 💜

My apologies that it took me a week to get back to this one. I gave time to consider it, and I hope the fic I wrote in response makes up for that!! It’s a very cute ask, and I love tenderness between them, too. But despite my affection for lighthearted stuff, I usually struggle with writing it (I’m a very dark and morbid person - oops 😅). Anyway, I’ve been getting quite a few soft VDM asks lately, so I figured I would accept another challenge!

I was hesitant about actually posting this, but I figured, what is there to lose? It does have some angst sprinkled in (I couldn’t help myself), but I hope I did your idea justice!!!

Oh, and to anybody else who sent VDM asks recently, I am still giving them some thought! So, stay tuned 😉

In the meantime, please enjoy…❤️🖤

“Why are you avoiding me, Arthur?”

Hand freezing and pencil ceasing its scratching within the journal on his lap, Arthur furrowed his brow as he peaked over the fire at Dutch. Yet, his eyes remained wide and questioning as he pushed back, “I’m not avoiding you. I just didn’t think you wanted to be bothered while you read.”

“Oh, come on. You know I never minded it in the past, especially not on a cold night like this. We could use all the heat we can spare between us,” Dutch flipped his book shut, patting the ground beside him.

Likewise, Arthur slid the bookmark of his journal in place as he closed it. “Well, I guess… it’s just…”

Dutch chuckled as he noticed Arthur bite his lip to suppress a timid smile. He gestured to Arthur, beckoning him over once again. “I know it’s been a long time since it’s been just the two of us, but you don’t have to be shy.”

“Alright,” Arthur agreed as he pushed himself to his feet, journal still clutched in one hand. He walked over and knelt next to Dutch, but before he could properly get seated, Dutch reached forward and grasped him by his shirt collars. Pressing Arthur’s back to his bedroll, Dutch pinned him there as he straddled his hips.

The journal got cast aside as Arthur grabbed at Dutch’s back. Their lips met, hungrily and impassioned. Dutch pressed his chest firmer against Arthur’s and moaned at the warmth that radiated between them. He pulled back and grinned down at Arthur through heavily-lidded eyes, “See, isn’t it better on this side?”

“I was afraid this might happen,” Arthur laughed as he reached a hand forward and brushed some loose curls away from Dutch’s face.

Emitting a soft hum, Dutch felt himself glow with a warm, fuzzy feeling in the pit of his stomach. Leaning in close once more, he whispered, “And are you complaining?”

“Never.” Arthur pulled Dutch in for another kiss, before Dutch backed away and sat up.

“I didn’t think so.” Dutch smirked as he reached for his wool blanket and unfolded it. Motioning for Arthur to sit up as well, he handed him a corner. They each wrapped part of it around themselves as they huddled close to the fire.

Arthur scooped his journal up and leaned against Dutch, his back pressed into the older man’s arm and shoulder for support. He reopened the journal on his lap, but his position hid his face and the journal’s contents from Dutch as he returned to sketching.

Attempting to peer over Arthur’s shoulder to no avail, Dutch asked, “What are you working on?”

“What are you reading?” Arthur shot back.

Dutch felt his heart briefly flutter. He couldn’t keep the smile out of his voice as he responded, “Since when do you care about what I read?”

When Arthur gave no response, Dutch slipped one hand around Arthur’s chest, hugging him and pulling him tighter. Gradually, he let his hand glide lower, until it reached the top of Arthur’s pants. Tugging at the shirt tucked in there, Dutch moved it out of the way and slipped his cold fingers inside. Arthur jumped at the sudden intrusion and gave a shriek, “AHH! Dutch! Your hand is freezing!”

Nuzzling his nose against the back of Arthur’s neck, Dutch pressed a soft kiss there. His lips grazed the sensitive flesh as he muttered, “Why are you being so difficult tonight, my boy?”

“Too bad you just ruined any chance of seeing my sketch.” Arthur’s voice had a teasing edge, but it was lighthearted. “Read to me, first. I always liked listening to your voice.”

At that statement, Dutch pulled his hand away from Arthur’s warm skin but still kept it wrapped around him as he moved his head back in surprise. His mouth hung slightly agape at the boldness in Arthur’s tone, though he felt the corners of his eyes crinkle in amusement. “So, that’s how you want to play this game… fine.”

Picking his book up in his free hand, Dutch opened it in his lap and scanned the pages. Arthur continued to sketch as Dutch’s other hand rubbed small circles over his chest.

Landing on a passage that caught his eye, Dutch began to read, “‘But whether the resistance against tyrants is non-violent or physically violent, the overarching efforts to overthrow oppression justifies the means.’ What do you think of that, Arthur?”

“It’s very nice, Dutch.”

“‘Nice?’ That’s the word you’d use to describe it?” Dutch protested, though he affectionately wrapped his arm tighter around Arthur as he did so. He flipped through the pages for a few more moments of silence before his eyes landed on another. “Well, how about this one? ‘The whole point of America is freedom. Freedom of thought, freedom of deed, freedom of action.’”

Letting out a sigh, Arthur tilted his head back so he could look at Dutch. Their faces were close - mere inches apart - as Arthur spoke, just barely above a whisper, “Does it always have to be about politics, Dutch? Some greater good? I thought we came out here to escape all that.”

Dutch wanted to argue and explain how important Evelyn Miller’s writings were to their mission as a gang and their survival. But he knew Arthur was right. This was their moment to share, and it wasn’t any use wasting it on philosophical debates. Those could wait.

Tipping his head forward, Dutch pressed a chaste kiss to Arthur’s lips and nodded as he pulled away. “Okay.”

Arthur smiled at him as he turned his head back towards his journal and continued to work. Looking back at his book, Dutch searched for a different passage to read. Though most of the ones he noted were about ideological teachings, he did finally settle on one that made his eyes narrow and lips tighten in consideration.

Taking a breath, Dutch traced the words with his finger as he read aloud, “‘Say what you have to say, not what you ought. Any truth is better than make-believe.’”

Arthur did not say anything in response, though Dutch felt his hand stop drawing, as if Arthur was thinking about it. Dutch could feel the steady beat of Arthur’s heart as he gently massaged his chest.

Eventually, Dutch buried his face in Arthur’s blond hair as he asked, “Hmm, was that better?”

Arthur flipped his journal shut in his lap and rocked lightly into Dutch as he muttered, “You know I was never much good with words.”

“Oh, son… and you know that I wish you wouldn’t downplay yourself like this.” Dutch squeezed Arthur’s breast as he cradled him closer. “You speak from the heart, that’s what matters most... same goes for when you draw in that journal of yours.”

At that, Arthur bent his head down towards the journal in his lap. He tied the leather flap and slid the pencil in place underneath it. Lifting the journal, he set it in front of where the two of them were seated and pushed it forward. It was like a silent invitation, placed just out of reach.

Adjusting his position, Arthur turned around so he could lean his chest against Dutch as he wound both of his arms around the older man’s waist. He buried his head in the crook of Dutch’s neck, and Dutch couldn’t suppress a shiver as Arthur’s warm breath vibrated across the bare flesh at his collar when he spoke, “Thank you for reading to me. ‘M getting tired…”

“Rest up, it’s been a long day.” Dutch set his own book aside so he could readjust himself and wrap his arms around Arthur’s back. He rubbed soothing circles as he rested his chin atop Arthur’s head and watched the flickering glow of the fire.

This was real.

This wasn’t make-believe, or some long-lost memory. Arthur’s steady breathing and the warmth of his flesh confirmed that fact. Dutch let his eyes flicker shut in thought as he was once again reminded of how right Arthur was.

At the end of the day, all those fancy words in his books and his own philosophizing would be meaningless without Arthur by his side.

Dutch furrowed his brow as he blinked his eyes open. Biting his lip, he took a sharp breath and paused. He hesitated to say the words on the tip of his tongue, but he released a long exhale as he tightened his grip on his boy.

He felt safe here.

“You know, Arthur… you’re right. This life of crime, even I sometimes wonder where it all ends, or if it even ends at all. I try to do what’s best, I really do. I know I talk a lot about loyalty and how important it is to keep faith, but these moments when I’m alone with you….” Dutch let his voice trail off. Even amidst his own speaking, he couldn’t fail to notice the light snore coming from Arthur’s lips.

But rather than feeling anger or frustration, Dutch merely smiled. In a way, it was a relief. Arthur couldn’t hear him, and if he could, he would never remember Dutch’s words come morning. Somehow, it was easier this way. Whatever he said aloud, he knew he wouldn’t have to prove or justify it to anybody. He could speak from the heart.

The truth.

“I don’t know how I could ever go on without you. Please, don’t ever let go…”

At that, Dutch squeezed his eyes shut and took a deep breath. He focused on the way Arthur maintained a tight grip around his waist, despite his steady snores. The words weren’t meant to be literal, but for the moment, Dutch could allow himself to believe it was possible both physically and figuratively.

Dutch blinked the dampness away from his eyelashes as he looked back towards the fire. The journal was still sitting there, illuminated by the orange glow. Shifting on the ground, Dutch lifted his head away from Arthur and peered down at him. He seemed unbothered by the movements, so Dutch decided to push it further. Unwrapping one arm from around Arthur’s back, Dutch leaned slowly forward, until his fingertips were just able to land on the journal’s leather cover.

Pulling the book towards him, Dutch was able to pick it up in one hand and place it in his lap. He briefly feared the action disturbed Arthur, for he whined and pressed his face harder against Dutch’s shoulder. However, his heavy breathing continued, and Dutch proceeded to slide the journal’s strap out of its place. Holding the pencil in his hand, Dutch turned to the bookmark at the back.

There, he found a sketch of two animals - a buck and a wolf. Despite serving contrasting roles in the wild, they looked perfectly at ease within the sketch. They curled around each other as they laid down to rest, their noses nearly touching. The way they huddled together made it seem believable that they really could find harmony, regardless of their true natures.

On the opposite page, a message was written, “‘Couldn’t resist, could you?’”

Dutch chuckled, Was he really that predictable?

Using the pencil, he scrawled his own note underneath, “‘It’s no use trying to fight who we really are.’”

Taking one last look at the sketch, Dutch ran a finger over it. Just as he could speak in metaphorical language, Arthur could draw in it. But the meanings underneath it all remained the same.

Just because it wasn’t literal, that didn’t mean it wasn’t the truth.

Closing the journal and placing it back where he found it, Dutch kept a firm hold on Arthur as he pulled the both of them down to lay on his bedroll. Adjusting the blanket, Dutch made sure it was draped snugly over them as Arthur soundlessly snuggled his face against Dutch’s chest and hugged him tighter. Once Dutch was comfortable, he likewise wrapped his arms around Arthur, one holding him by the small of his back and the other rumpling his hair.

Feeling tired as well, Dutch shut his eyes. With his final words for the night, Dutch thought of what he just wrote in the journal as they held each other close. Continuing along the same line of thought, he whispered, “We just gotta embrace it.”

[otp-holic]

Will this be the night? (ALSO IN A03)

A random piece of online advertising unleashes some movie memories of a Summer afternoon in 1932

1.5 Ks Fanfic + Pictures Inside. Part of the Never let us lose what we have gained series (AO3) Silly drabble born from my love of classic movies... that ended up not having anything to do with classic movies.

BROOKLYN'S KING'S THEATRE

Poster for Cary Grant's Retrospective. Printed paper 2025.

A poster for the upcoming month long celebration of the movies of Cary Grant to be held in Brooklyn.

Bucky is not expecting a vivid memory of the past to jump at him from a piece of online location-targeted promotion popping on his phone as he and Steve are wandering around the neighborhood on a random Friday.

But the 21st century works in mysterious ways and Google is kindly inviting him to check “Cary Grant: A Celebration”, a month-long chronological retrospective of all his movies taking place at a nearby hipster cinema starting… in half an hour.

He beams as a long string of memories of the both of them in different afternoons and movies plays in his head; how they counted the cents for the admission price, and how Bucky learned to sneak into the movie every time that did not add up to two full tickets.

“Buck, you’ve been smiling at your phone in silence for a whole minute,” Steve interrupts his daydreaming. “Should I be jealous? Worried?”

“Sorry,” he answers, still smiling about the memories. “I think I’m leaving you for Google, they see inside my one hundred years old soul; But I might give you another chance if you don’t mind a change of plans for the afternoon.”

“Lead the way, but can you give me some heads up?” Steve chuckles, more than used to Bucky’s ways.

He takes Steve’s hand to direct them towards the movie theatre and thinks about how much information he wants to share.

Although he is the one who still relies on the comfort of 30s and 40s movies whereas Steve keeps getting bolder with his options, Steve has always loved Cary Grant and Bucky thinks he’s going to appreciate his choice since this particular movie has a history (sad history, maybe) for them, so he debates on whether to tell him or not.

“We are going to the movies. But the real ones, not that shit on Netflix you keep choosing,” he settles for half-disclosure.

“Damn, mister life in black and white strikes again. Embrace the 21st century, Barnes, I think you’ll like it!”, Steve laughs.

“Hey, I embrace it more than you do! At least I look the part of a mid-thirties man from it instead of a fifty-year-old hiding in fucking khakis. Albeit a very hot one, I’ll give you that.”

They both laugh. It’s not the first time these remarks fly between them and having a routine, running jokes, and running pet peeves is very soothing after everything they have gone through.

They’re getting closer to the cinema now, and Bucky can already see the Billboard announcing the retrospective and a small queue forming upfront. He takes a side look at Steve to see if he has noticed and he can certainly tell that his curiosity has peaked.

“Surprise! Call it a win-win, it might be up my alley, but you used to love Cary Grant movies,” Bucky smiles as they reach their place in the queue and glance at the program for the afternoon.

‘This is the Night (1932)’, the poster says, ‘Cary Grant's feature film debut on the big screen’

Bucky is deep in nostalgia, remembering a summer day of 32 when they were waiting in line for the same film and how the evening turned out, but when he looks in search of his partner’s reaction, it’s not what he expected at all.

“Steve, you ok?” he asks, worried at seeing Steve frozen in place.

Steve nods. His whole face is deep red, but at least he is responsive. He looks ashamed and Bucky is shifting from worried to curious.

“Jesus, this movie,…” he chuckles now.

“You seem to remember, then. I thought you might.”

It was not a happy memory: Steve had felt really ill halfway through, looking white as a sheet of paper and about to die on Bucky. They had to leave the unfinished movie and run home, as per Steve’s request. But as far as Bucky remembers, nothing to be ashamed of.

“Why are you acting weird? Oh my god, Steven, are you allergic to this movie?”

The silence before Steve answers is a little too long and the queue moves forward.

“Shit, this is not easy to say and I’m sorry in advance.”

“Duly noted, but could you try to explain? I’m lost and I didn’t expect a full-on confession of something to be sorry about when I decided to follow Google’s intelligent advice to an unfinished movie. I just thought it was a good excuse for a change of plans. And kind of closure.”

Steve takes a breath and starts talking.

“I wasn’t honest with you, Buck. Back then…” he stops, searching for words, nervously musing on his beard. “Ah, I cannot believe this hasn’t come up at some point, but there it goes. I absolutely lied to you that day: I wasn’t sick or half dying and I am very very guilty of using my poor health to run away from that place and that movie, but I did the only thingI could think of.”

Bucky is at a loss for words, he’s still deciding if he is angry, curious, or somewhere in between.

“But… but you were feverish and white as a ghost and you said you had palpitations!”

Steve seems to think for a moment again and the bastard laughs so loud they get a curious look from the people behind. And taking advantage of the queue moving up again, he gets really really close to Bucky who honestly thinks he’s going to try to kiss himself out of the situation since it’s a bulletproof strategy.

But he doesn’t: He goes for Bucky’s ear instead, and whispers.

“I had a boner like you wouldn’t believe.”

Bucky gasps loudly totally taken aback while Steve takes a step back and looks at him in the eye more amused and hungry than ashamed, but still blushing.

“But hey, not all lies! I was somehow sick. And pale since my blood was… otherwise occupied. And I was barely 14!”

Bucky laughs at the dork. His dork. But the information is still making its way into his brain.

“Oh my God,” he exclaims as it starts to settle, “You piece of shit, you pulled the poor sick child card when you were just plain horny. I was worried to my bones as we run to your home. Shame on you Rogers!”

“Me? It was your fucking fault! Yours and Cary Grant’s and your stupid grins and stupid chins, those clefts!” he’s screaming in whispers so Steve Rogers’ teenage boner doesn’t make it to the news, but he’s talking as if he was pronouncing an important speech to the UN, “What was a 14-year-old in the fucking 30s popping one upon seeing an actor who kind of looked like a very tall version of his very male best friend to do?”

He is about to say something, but Steve literally covers his mouth with one hand giving Bucky no other option but to stick his tongue and lick the palm.

“Gross, Buck. I’m not done!”, he dries his hand on Buckys’ shirt before he goes on. “I’m not done because as I was still processing all that, you kept brushing your goddamned hand with mine when you went for popcorn! Over and over and over. It was torture. I have palpitations now just thinking about it.”

Bucky full-on laughs. One of those real ones that come more and more lately and that he honestly thought he would never get to experience again.

They have reached the box office, so he doesn’t push it further. For now.

“Two tickets for `This is the Night´, please.” Bucky smiles at the box-office guy. “He is paying, tho. I paid last time we tried to see this one and he didn’t have the decency to stay until the end.”

He actually feels like a teen as Steve takes his hand into the theatre, as he very intentionally buys popcorn to share, and as they start full-on making out on their seats during the commercials once the lights are out.

“Wanna know another secret, Buck?” Steve whispers a few minutes later, eyes on the starting movie as he brushes Bucky’s hand with intention over the popcorn bucket. His flustered face and recently kissed lips bathed by dancing lights and shadows coming from the screen. “It’s a good thing we were already together in ‘38 when “Bringing up baby” came out because I was able to plan ahead and lure you into that memorable window fuck at our old apartment before the show, or we would have totally missed one of our favorite movies, too.”

Bucky hates Steve with the force of the universe. Or maybe not, but he’s not playing clean.

“Raincheck on the movie?” he manages to whisper back as he drives Steve’s hand to his already noticeable hard-on. Two can play this game.

“Oh, poor Buck. Do you have palpitations” Steve chuckles, lips wet on Bucky’s ear and gripping harder on his bulge instead of letting go. “Was that the memory of the window fuck? Or all the making out? Tell me so I don’t do it again.”

“You are a punk, Steve Rogers,” Bucky answers before standing up to leave, closely followed by a smiling Steve.

Argh, sorry for deleting and uploading again, but i had technical issues with this.... so here it goes again. I need to free myself from this one!

[kozumekenza]

on my mind :: five

:: suna rintarou x f!reader :: playlist :: masterlist ::

:: taglist: open :: wc: 2.2k ::

After a drunken one-night stand with your ex, you thought you could get him out of your life for good. Unfortunately, the two of you can’t seem to keep away from each other. Why can’t you leave each other alone? And more importantly, why is he still on your mind?

tw: alcohol, profanity, mentions of sex

author’s note: this chapter is v self-indulgent + fluffy but i hard a hard time getting it to flow while covering everything, so i’m sorry if it some parts seem kinda confusing. as always, thank you for reading and i hope you enjoy this chapter <3

After another week of deliberation, you were no closer to determining if another relationship with Suna would be worth a shot. You didn’t hear from him or speak to him at practice, even after you rejoined the team on the court later in the week. He kept his distance, seemingly wary of talking to you after you left him at his kitchen table Saturday morning. 

You weren’t quite sure what to make of it. Based on his reaction Saturday, you guessed he was probably pissed at you, and you didn’t blame him. He had specifically warned you about regrets on Friday night, and you completely blew him off, just to tell him you regretted everything the next day. It was a dick move on your part, and you understood that. There weren’t any excuses; it was simply your drunk versus sober self warring against each other. 

Nonetheless, you still felt awful. You kept your distance; you didn’t want to further anger Suna with your presence. During practice, you kept to the sidelines, performing your duties with a calculating eye and absolute precision. 

Still, by the end of the week, you were exhausted. Besides the intense contemplation you were performing in your head, work was also draining. Sakusa Kiyoomi sprained his wrist (apparently, it happened quite often), Yaku Morisuke nearly tore his ACL (a devastating injury for a libero), and on top of it all, Hinata Shoyo somehow managed to break two toes, his pinky finger, and got a concussion. Top it all off with the fact that Tobio Kageyama was always hovering over Hinata when he was injured, questioning your every move, and you had a recipe for disaster (or at least extreme exhaustion). By the time Friday’s afternoon practice was finished, you were ready to fall asleep while standing up.

You said your goodbyes to the team, approved the weekend’s schedule with Iwaizumi (it was your turn to work Sunday’s practice match), and took the train home. After unlocking your apartment, you debated whether or not you should go straight to bed without dinner or suck it up and make something quick and easy. In the end, your desire to not wake up starving at five in the morning won, and you went to change before starting dinner. You threw on some old running shorts and Suna’s stolen jersey, which had become your new favorite sleep shirt (who could blame you, it was comfortable as hell). 

However, a quick search through your cabinets and fridge showed that you had almost no food, whatsoever. Not a big deal, you could just run to the convenience store down the street. 

So you did, with no makeup, dressed in sleep clothes, hair in a messy bun. 

Grabbing a basket, you made your way around the small store, ignoring the stares you received from other customers (you chose to believe it was just because of your tangled hair, but you knew it was because you were wearing a Japanese National Team jersey). You picked up some eggs and noodles for ramen, along with some broth. You were in the frozen food aisle, considering the merits of cookies and cream versus matcha ice cream, when someone tentatively called your name.

You spun around, cursing yourself for not at least putting on a jacket, when you began to curse yourself even more for wearing the stupid jersey. 

You came face to face with Suna Rintarou, who was considering you with a pained expression on his face. 

“Hey, Suna,” you switched your basket from one hip to the other, “what are you doing here?”

He held up the package in his hand. Jelly fruit sticks. “Had a craving.”

You inclined your head. “Cool.”

“What about you?”

You looked down at the basket. “Needed stuff to make ramen.”

He nodded, then looked off to the side before looking back at you. “Um, y/n, who’s jersey is that?”

Panicking, you laughed. “Just an extra I found.”

“Really? It has my name on the back.”

Shit. “Oh, well, must be a coincidence, I guess.”

He cocked his head to the side. “I also lost mine a few weeks ago.”

“Oh wow, that’s awful, I’m sorry.” You turned, trying to make an escape.

“Y/n.”

You looked back at Suna. “Yeah?”

“That’s my jersey.”

You laughed again, dread really becoming apparent now. “What? No way.”

Suna just continued looking at you. “Your bra is at my apartment.”

You quickly shook your head. “No-”

“So is your torn skirt.”

“No, tha-”

“We slept together.”

“Yeah, but only-”

“Twice.”

“No, def-”

“And you knew.”

You were really starting to panic, hands waving around, like that would somehow convince him. “No, no, no.”

Suna looked you in the eye. “We need to talk.”

You sighed, accepting defeat. “Yeah, I guess we do.”

---

After awkwardly paying for your food and an even more awkward walk back to your apartment, you and Suna were finally in private.

“D’ya want anything to drink? Water, soda, juice? Wine, something a little stronger? Vodka?”

Suna just sighed, shrugging out of his jacket. “Water’s fine, thanks.”

You poured him a glass of water and yourself a glass of wine, but not before taking a few shots of vodka. You were going to need it to get through this. You approached with the glasses, setting one down in front of Suna before curling up on the other end of the couch. 

“Nice place you got.”

“Thanks.” You sipped from your glass, waiting for Suna to make the first move. When it became apparent that he wasn’t going to speak until you did, you spoke up. “I’m-”

“We-”

You laughed, setting down your glass. “You can go first.”

Suna took a deep breath. “We both have fucked up, in the past and now. I’ll admit it. The way I treated you in high school was shitty, and it’s taken me a long time to own up to it. I’m sorry for all the pain I caused you back then. And I don’t know if it’s you getting back at me, or purely coincidental, but I’m kinda hurt that you hid this from me. I mean, for fuck’s sake, y/n, I talked about it in front of you. And you just kept quiet!” You silently watched as Suna took a sip of water. “I guess my main question is why. Why didn’t you say anything to me? Were you just hoping that I would never find out?”

You assessed Suna, allowing yourself a moment to think. “I didn’t hide it from you to get back at you. I’ve long since forgiven you for all of the shit in high school, and it wasn’t just you. I was immature and insecure back then, so for what it’s worth, I’m sorry too. I think I didn’t say anything because I was scared. I mean, I woke up that morning in your apartment, with no memory of the night before, and I hadn’t seen you in eight years. I had no clue what happened or why I was there. I didn’t know why you were in Tokyo, and honestly, I thought you would’ve been disgusted. We hadn’t spoken to each other in a long, long time. I didn’t want our first meeting after all those years to be an awkward morning-after. And about the jersey,” you laughed a little to yourself, “that was pure coincidence. I had no clue what I had taken until I got home, and I had no idea how to return it.”

Suna nodded, seemingly thinking something over before speaking. “I forgive you. I’m not even that upset about everything, to be honest. I think it just kind of hurts that you kept it from me. And I’ll admit, I was really bothered when you just left last Saturday. I don’t know how much of what you said Friday night is true, and I was a little drunk too, but I meant everything. I didn’t want you to have any regrets, and I don’t regret it.” He chuckled to himself, “I mean obviously, I wish we had slept together under different circumstances, and I wish that you didn’t regret it either, because it clearly made you upset.”

“I think it just took me by surprise, that was all. I had promised myself that I wouldn’t get drunk and sleep with you again, and I did exactly that. I was upset at myself, and I took it out on you. I’m sorry.” You made eye contact with him, hoping that your eyes could convey the emotions that your words could not. “For what it’s worth, I meant everything as well. I did miss you, all those years we were apart, but I hope you understand why I had to leave back then. We were tearing each other apart, constantly. I had to do the hard thing and get out before there was nothing left.” Tears started to well up in your eyes, and you quickly wiped them away. “I had to leave. It was the hardest thing I’ve ever done, because I loved you,” your voice broke, “no, because I still love you, so much. For eight years, I focused on bettering myself, and I tried every single day to forget about you, but you were always on my mind. And I was terrified when I saw you again, fuck, I’m still terrified. But you’re my best friend, you always have been, and I love you, Rin.” You couldn’t stop the tears that were flowing now, after bearing your heart. You let Suna pull you in, and cried into his chest as he stroked your hair and whispered calming words. When the tears finally stopped, you remained tucked into Suna, your head underneath his chin. 

“I never stopped thinking about you, or loving you.” Now Suna was the one who sounded close to tears. “You can ask ‘Tsumu. I always asked him for updates on you. I remember, when I got my National Team letter, the first thing I did was ask ‘Tsumu if you’d be a trainer here. I kept up with you, and I knew you had just completed your training with another team. So I knew you were gonna be here, and I thought, maybe, just maybe, this was my chance. Our chance to fix the whole ‘right person, wrong time’ thing we had. ‘Cause that’s what I’m convinced it was. We just didn’t know how to balance each other out yet or how to be in a real relationship yet. We were still kids, learning about ourselves and the world. When you left, I was determined to not make it the last time I ever saw you. I knew you had to leave, had to find your place in the world, without me. I never blamed you. You did the hard part by leaving. What you didn’t know, though,” Suna hugged you a little closer, “is that I was always there, right next to you, cheering you on.” Now the both of you were crying. “I want to fix things with you, make things right. If there’s anything I learned last Friday,” Suna gave a wet laugh, “it’s that we can still talk to each other, and we can do it better than we ever did. I want to be with you, again. I want there to be an us, again.”

You sat up a little, putting some space between the two of you. This, you weren’t so sure about. You looked to the side, trying to avoid Suna’s pleading eye contact. “Rin,” you looked back up at him, “you know I love you. You know I missed you so, so much. But I just need a little bit more time. And I’m sorry to even ask you-”

“Shh, shh, it’s okay.” He held you close as you began crying again. “I understand, I do. I’ll wait, as long as you need me too, I’ll wait for you. Just promise me that you’ll let me know when you’re ready.”

You nodded against his chest. “I promise, Rintarou. Thank you.”

You stayed there, head on his chest, just listening to his heartbeat. It felt as if a weight had been lifted from your shoulders. It was nice to get everything off of your chest, to figure out where the both of you stood with each other. It was nice to know that you would have the time and space to sort your head out, to fully work out if a relationship with Suna was a good idea or not. There were still so many aspects of your high school relationship that you had pushed to the side years ago, and you needed to sort through it. You needed to separate that Suna from this Suna, the old you from the present you. You needed time to be in a better mental state, one where you could give him your all. 

But you knew, no matter how much time it took, Suna would be waiting for you. 

---

When Suna finally left your apartment, it was hours and a teary goodbye later. You promised to keep in touch, and he promised to give you time and space. 

You went to bed feeling significantly lighter, dreaming about a future where you could fall asleep on Suna’s chest every single night. 

taglist: @sunasexual @call-me-lulu​ @ntimacy​ @circleglasses​ @porcolie​ @keikotaro 

[buryyourfavouritestrope]

May I walk you home? - Arima Kishou

A gentle hum settled within the corridors of the CCG Main Office; all the hype that had been built throughout the day had fizzled out hours ago.  Almost every employee had returned to their homes, leaving only the skeleton crews occupying the building.

He hadn’t meant to stay this late; Yoshitoki had pleaded with him earlier in the afternoon, when he’d visited Arima’s office spontaneously and found the man half asleep behind his desk, to go home and sleep in an actual bed. With a sigh he tore himself free of his chair, the material whined as it sprung back to its original form.  In his mind he reminded himself that he’d go home to shower and change before returning. There would be no point in resting; by the time he planted his head on his pillow he’d be beckoned back.

Kishou almost missed the sound of pen scratching at paper. If he hadn’t become so fine tuned to every creak and hushed whisper this level of the building emitted, he probably would’ve overlooked the simple noise. Yet, the soft sigh caressing his ears enticed him into finding the source.

Peering through an empty doorway he spotted her, a small frame hunched over a desk, with a pen cocked to her temple as she focused on the file before her. By the way her eyes would occasionally slid shut and stay there for a second before opening wide she was struggling to stay awake. Arima chose this moment to check the time once again.

“Normally people finish a write up of the day on the opposite side of midnight.” Arima theorized, to say the way she bounced in her seat and dropped all items in her hands didn’t amuse him would’ve been an understatement. He was attempting, rather poorly might he add, to contain a smirk.

“Special Class Investigator Kishou,” She yelped. “I just wanted to finish one file…three or six files ago. What time is it? Oh god, I had to visit-“Her eyes glanced towards her phone, the screen illuminating as the numbers burned into her retinas. She hadn’t meant to stay this late. She hadn’t meant to still be in the office after a thirty-six-hour shift.

“It’s ok, I’ve had my fair share of late nights. But you really should go home now, I hear your last investigation was difficult. It’s not uncommon for a ghoul’s threat level to rise in the field but to go from a lower-class ghoul to an SS rating.” He surmised. Her frame jumped from her seat as she began to wave her bandaged arms at him. As if to stop him from speaking any further.

“It was all the other members of the team, in fact I came away with only light injuries, I can’t say the same for the others.” She blurted. Arima let himself smile gently; he hadn’t met an Associate Special Class Investigator who was as humble as she was. Nor had he seen one with as much untainted innocence at their rank. “I offered to finish their case notes, as a way to help them.”

The room fell into the same gentle hum, Arima had found himself used to, once more. Her weight shifted on her feet as she chewed at her bottom lip. He could see her contemplating something and if he had to guess it would be whether to abandon the paperwork and leave or remain dedicated.

“May I walk you home?” Kishou questioned; it was an attempt to settle her mental debate. “if not now, I can wait for when you’re ready to leave” He added. Arima was curious. He’d always heard everyone’s praise for the Investigator but up until now he’d never conversed properly with her.

“We live in opposite directions” She spluttered, her hand lifting to her lips. “Not that I know where you live, I just meant that I would’ve guessed you lived in the nicer part of the city. I mean the guys in my team tend to call where I live a Ghoul hotspot, I mean I’ve only witnessed one incident outside of work” Her babble made him laugh. A rare noise indeed and it took her a second to notice as she continued talking.

“Even more reason to, plus a perk of being called the White Reaper means ghouls tend to steer clear of me” He jested. Another rare occurrence. The second in the space of five minutes, maybe he was exhausted. Still, he stood firm in the doorway. His eyes watching as she gathered her belongings without hesitation. Clearly, she’d given up protesting.

Before they knew it, they’d wandered further from the ominous Main office. Arima had listened as she stammered her way through the previously mentioned Ghoul case. Occasionally she would brush her fingers over one of her bandaged arms, he assumed she was doing it to remind herself that she wasn’t dreaming.

“What made you want to be an Investigator?” Arima inquired; her movements paused and for a second Arima doubted whether he’d asked the right question. He was curious, everything about her screamed that she was in the wrong profession. From the way she smiled to the way her eyes sparkled when she was nervous. Out loud he wouldn’t admit to it, but he found himself wanting to protect her from the harsh reality of the CCG. From the horrors of the world. Even in this short amount of time she had wiggled beneath the surface of his soul and infected him. He understood why everyone liked her so much.

“My brother,” The syllables held a weight he knew all to well. The numbness that consumed him hung from every letter as he turned his gaze to her. The shadows perfectly masked the emotions scattering across her features. Normally he would pry, a desperate attempt to study the joy people usually held when talking about their motivation. He wanted to be able to imitate it, perhaps to fool himself into believing he could be the same.

“I’m sorry” He found himself apologising, his eyes shifting to watch the surroundings. He’d taken note of almost everyone who had crossed their path. It was a precaution, should he need to fight.

“No, don’t be. If he were here, he’d be fanboying over you, I mean the sort of jaw to the floor type of excitement kids get with tv. He was insanely obsessed with Investigators, he got it from watching our mother. They both had a bizarre joy for dangerous situations. Finny was always an adrenaline junkie, he used to use balcony railings as tightropes, or play chicken in the roads near our home. My mother was always out, so it was my job to watch him. As a teenager he became hyper fixated on Ghouls and Investigators and for a while it was an innocent intrigue into how they fought. As a teenager he wanted to watch our mother in action. He wanted to watch Investigator’s fight in all their glory. So, at night he’d go paroling the back alleys for any Ghouls in our Ward. I used to follow after him just to ensure he didn’t get into any trouble or injured. Most of the time he’d only stumble on human crimes, a few times he’d stumble across a long-abandoned Ghoul attack. Our mother died on a mission years before I thought about joining. In fact, I only really wanted to be a bookstore clerk. Her death though sparked something in Finny, it drove him. He would go out longer, he’d go to the rougher areas. Every time I’d follow after him” She faltered briefly.

“Did he ever get into trouble? I can’t imagine all the time he only saw the back end of a ghoul hunt” Arima asked. It was stupid. He knew that the second he spoke, but his mouth moved quicker than his thoughts. She gave him a false smile. The type he’d used a few times.

“Oh boy, there were a couple close shaves. I used to throw him into a dumpster and cover his mouth to stop us from getting caught by a Ghoul. When we got home, he’d be angry but apologise and promise me he wouldn’t do anything reckless. He died shortly after our mother. For the longest time I blamed myself, he went to parole at the height of Ghoul activity back then, if I remember correctly you were just starting out at the CCG, and he used to rave about a certain blue haired investigator that he occasionally caught site of. I refused to go the night he was injured. I was exhausted from school and a part time job, so I begged him not to go. Selfish am I right?” She croaked. By now Arima should’ve stopped her. He should’ve placed a hand on her shoulder and hushed her as tears slowly fell down her face. Instead, he followed her steps as they turned the corner. The older Investigator wanted to disagree with her. It wasn’t selfish to value her own rest.

Kishou’s mind threw itself back to his beginnings with the CCG, he vaguely remembered hearing about an ordinary human turning up at fights. No-one quite understood how they kept finding them, but they had. The muffled whispers in his memory, caused him to step closer to the younger Investigator. It hadn’t been as though the pavement had narrowed beneath their feet. Arima had done it out of instinct as he listened to his own teenage voice in his memories. He remembered calling the unknown witness a fool, who would find himself dead.

“A bookstore clerk” Arima mused, he had meant to say it in his mind. Once again, his mouth betrayed him. He listened to her soft laugh. “I could see you doing that, just from everything that happened I would’ve thought you’d stay as far from the CCG as you could get.”

“Believe me I wanted nothing more than to move to a new country at that point, start a fresh somewhere less influenced by Ghoul’s but I kept hearing Finny, I kept visualising how happy he would get whenever he saw Investigators out and about. I’d never seen him happier, so I guess I joined to keep his memory alive. Especially after he died, even dying he was smiling as he clung to a piece of what I think was a Quinque” She recalled. “I found him the next morning, I almost fell over his half dead body as I left my room. He was gripping this Quinque shard as I tried to stop the bleeding. I think he accepted it, he just kept saying that the Investigators were beautiful. Apparently, he’d watched two Investigators take down a lower ranked Ghoul and they’d seen him. As they went to yell at him for putting himself in danger, some SS rated Ghoul turned up. Before they’d reached him, one of them had been killed. So the second one did his best to protect Finny. I don’t know how he got out. But he did. I was the only one he knew at his funeral. Just me and the Investigator who told me about the events”  

“I’m sorry,” Arima apologised once more. This time he placed his hand on her shoulder.

“It’s ok, it’s how life is sometime, I haven’t really told anyone that story, you’re the first.” She smiled at him. Her hands pointed to the home beside them and Arima found himself questioning when they had arrived. Or when his thumb had begun to rub circles into her shoulder. “This is me”

“Yes, then this is where we part ways. Thank you for answering my question. Good Night Asso-“ She cut him off.

“It’s really late, and I’d feel really bad if you had to walk all the way home. I mean the sun would be up before you arrived. So can I offer you the guest room. It’s not much but the bed’s better than the sofa. I have some of my dad’s old shirts in a box that I can fish out for you tomorrow morning.” Her words caught him by surprise. His eyes widening at the offer, he should’ve refused. He really should’ve refused but he found himself nodding.

He was staying because he was tired, because she had spoken to him as though he were her friend or family and because he could’ve sworn, bathed in the moonlight, he could see the vulnerability that encircled her eyes. She needed the company, he convinced himself, and though he knew he wasn’t much in the form of comfort he followed her inside.  

[the-crows-typist]

Here’s the fourth installment of your Valentine’s event (Yes, I know it’s March but IRL stuff happens y’know? This time we have Kalim paired with the word ‘Flowers’ requested by @opalmaplehibiscus .Enjoy!

CW: Hanahaki AU (Non-lethal variant), Angst with a happy ending, potential OOC, Minor talks about death

Word count: 3656 

Other works: Chocolates Feat. Jade, Cards Feat. Floyd, Kiss Feat. Vil

A Heart From Me to You

Kalim loved to look at flowers regardless of where he saw them. He loved the way the petals touched his skin and the many scents, whether sweet or strong, he breathed into his nose. Visiting the school’s botanical garden was one of his ‘hidden favorite things’ to do, he puts it as hidden as Jamil and he was glued to the hip since birth and while he never minded that Jamil was close by, there were moments he wished to be alone.

It was a very selfish want, he admitted to himself.

“Phew.” He breathed a relieved sigh, finally able to enter the garden without much of a problem. The sound of birds is what calmed him and the familiar scent of stored water was what brought him a sense of renewal. Taking one of the watering cans, Kalim began watering the flowering plants with not much thought going into it.

The flowers were beautiful, they truly were. They were very lucky to be this beautiful and to be held in such high regard for it. Yes, the flowers were indeed lucky contrary to his being; he never thought of himself the way he viewed the flowers and while he enjoyed some perks of his life thanks to his family’s achievements, it came with the same amount of misfortune and realities usually too dark for people his age to perceive.

Many people get hurt or even die for his sake, his siblings don’t get as much attention from their father as they liked because he, the eldest, is in the way and deep down he knew and felt the boiling resentment many had for him.

He doesn’t blame anyone for thinking that. It was a hard pill that Kalim was used to swallowing.

Perhaps had he been born a flower, life would have been easier for everyone including him.

He continued his watering until the can was empty and only then did he go back to the hose to refill it. The foliage on the way there was thick, he figured it hadn’t been cut for a while and made a note to himself to find some hedge clippers. He wasn’t allowed to hold knives, that’s true, but hedge clippers don’t count, right?

Lost In his internal debate, a quick set of feet ran and collided with his side harshly, Kalim and the unknown student losing their balance with a collective sound of surprise. “Oh, gosh, I’m so sorry. Are you okay?” You held your hands to yourself, as if hurt when Kalim slowly inched forward. “A-are you hurt? I can take you to the clinic if you—!” He was suddenly pushed out of the way, your hands only touching him for a moment before running off.

Kalim watched in confusion, blinking when the door slammed shut. The smell of lavender hit his nose and his eyes loomed downwards to see that the area you had touched had been taken over by the flowering buds of lavender. “This wasn’t here before.” He whispered to himself and attempted to pull at the flowers carefully out of the fabric.

When he finished his resting time, Jamil was waiting outside the botanical garden looking very upset. “You ran off again.” He said in the most seething voice Kalim was used to hearing. “Look, I can explain.” And back to reality it was, playing as the happy-go-lucky person people knew him as. While he enjoyed the time to himself, he hated how short it lasted. But now, he has to keep face, he has to be what he was expected to be.

Jamil takes his hand but Kalim’s smile only wavers a little bit. Here we go. “No amount of explaining will change the fact that you were alone. You should be more careful, Kalim. What if—?”

There was a biting sensation on his skin, the two boys looking down and on Jamil’s skin sprouted small white blossoms and enticing black berries. They both reeled from each other, Jamil holding his hand and Kalim his wrist.

He suddenly remembers you, bumping into him during his internal discussion.

“Kalim…” Jamil’s eyes were wide in fear. “Your…”

The nightshade flowers withered under the sun, its poisonous berries drying and falling to their feet in clumps.

Wearing gloves in warm weather wasn’t the nicest feeling but it had to be done. After the confirmation that Kalim had indeed been cursed, Jamil had become vigilant and stricter with his role as protector. There wasn’t a time he was ever alone in one room. His selfishness has come to bite him back, Kalim thought to himself.

He looked to his hands with a huff. The curse didn’t seem harmful, just inconvenient…And the one who gave it, You, didn’t seem like it was intentional. The meeting between you two was brief, only lasting a few seconds and a few shed flowers.

“Kalim, let’s go,” Jamil said, tugging him along and walking by his side every step of the way.

Ah, how would he know anyway? He’s not good at anything like Jamil nor does he have the physical capabilities as he does. The only thing he’s probably good at is flying a magic carpet and the drums.

“Yeah.”

Kalim was quiet on their walk and until he sat down in the classroom, he kept silent. Class started without much trouble, he took notes but couldn’t listen much, his mind wandering back to you in the botanical garden.

Lab classes had a sort of freedom to it. Kalim was able to work around a bit more his gloves and Jamil would often be paired with someone else…Usually Azul. Kalim noticed that despite their different interest, Jamill and Azul had grown closer in the past months. And while he was happy for them both, there was a sting that never wanted to leave.

He and Kalim were born around the same time and since then never left each other’s side. He was there when Kalim needed him and he was his friend, probably his only friend. That was, at least, what he wanted to believe but even during their childhood, Kalim had already noticed that Jamil was with him because he was told to. Had Jamil been given the choice, he could have played with someone else other than him.

“Excuse me, would you like to start?” His partner asked and he blinked, nodding his head and smiling the way he always does. “Yeah! Let’s work hard.”

He stayed in the corner, eyes looking at particularly nothing. He and his partner finished up early and got a good enough score for it…Which is good, he’ll take a passing grade than a failed mark any day. He looked over to the side of the ceiling and his hands intertwined with each other. In the back, Jamil smiled at Azul’s demise after hot smoke bellowed from the cauldron and out to their face.

It had been a while since he saw Jamil looking that happy. There was stinging itchiness in his hands that went with the heaviness in his heart. The gloves grew tighter and less comfortable and Kalim wanted to take it off, but showing he had been cursed meant showing others he was vulnerable.

The itchiness and the cold warmth of fear felt were too great. He needed a change of environment, he needed alone time. He took one last look at a laughing Jamil then slinked off and out of the lab, almost running to a place he knows he’ll be safe.

The botanical garden was silent and unchanged, its flowers blooming in different colors and hues, the temperature a mix of tropical and temperate. He smiled upon seeing Leona rest against a tree and soon walked deeper and deeper into the gardens to a place where he could relax. Discarding his gloves, he let his hands touch the tree stumps, flowers of Helenium growing on the bark and providing color in an otherwise dimly lit landscape with the trees acting as a canopy.

Kalim sighs, letting his thought leave whichever way it can. The flowers bloomed under his palm and he reveled in its beauty, just by being born it was able to bring a sort of happiness to those who choose to look at it.

His shoulders droop slightly, his line sight dipping to a tree’s roots. His hands begin to scratch and he begins to scratch on the skin of his palms, begging his body and the curse to stop. He rubbed his palms together, the tattered stems and petals falling to the ground in a heap. “Please stop.” He begged to himself. “Please make it stop.”

He closed his eyes, brows furrowed and shaking. The flowers crept up his skin over his hands. “Please stop.” Hunching over, he brought his hands to his chest. “Please…”

“Please,”

“Calm down.”

Picking the flowers out of his skin was an odd experience and even more that someone else was doing it. Your hands were wrapped with bandages and eyes searching for even the tiniest blossoms on his skin. Kalim sniffed, rubbing his eyes with a now flower-free hand. “That’s it, just let it all flow out.” You said and pick the last flower from his hand.

“Festering emotions are what power the curse.” You explain. “You have to let it out or else the flowers will consume you.” He takes his gloves out of his hand and slips them back on and you sit up straight, an embarrassed smile formed on your lips. “I suppose I should its high time that I introduce myself—.”

“You’re the one who bumped into me.”

You nod your head. “Yes, and you’re Kalim Al-Asim, dorm leader of Scarabia.” With a voice gentle, Kalim felt at ease but what his eyes saw betrayed the feeling immediately. “Please forgive me, I didn’t know that it would pass onto you so suddenly.” You bowed, forehead touching the ground in your position.

You waited for a reaction, anything, but as time passed you never heard anything nor did you feel any anticipated touches. “It’s a little embarrassing seeing you like this, raise your head,” Kalim said and you did what you were told. He looked down at his hands, a few blossoms stayed on his skin.

“How long have you had it?” Kalim asked, placing a hand over yours and the touch making you twitch. “This curse.” He clarifies, your eyes holding the quivering vulnerability only presented to him alone.

“For a long while now.”

Kalim didn’t know how long he had spent in the gardens just talking to you, knowing what the curse had to offer. You always made sure none of your skin ever touched anything or peaked out of your uniform. While you were gentle and kind, Kalim saw fear in your actions.

“The curse only latches onto anyone with festering feelings…Perhaps,” Kalim looks at his hand while you pause as if what you were about to say would sound very mean-spirited. “Perhaps that’s why it latched onto you, too.”

It was near evening when he got out, his heart not as heavy but speedy knowing that he had to face a very upset Jamil for being selfish and unguarded. He walked down the steps, already seeing the familiar figure at the bottom; Jamil’s brows were furrowed and expression angry.

The two of them stared at each other and Jamil turned his back. “Let’s go home.”

You had told him prior that you lived inside the garden, in a special cottage that was hidden from view. It must be nice, he thought to himself. Jamil took Kalim by the wrist and pulled him close, walking to his stride.

“Is there a way to break this curse?” He asked and your smile deflated but only for a short while. “I wish I could tell you,” You say. “But I don’t know, either.”

From the evening setting of Night Raven, Kalim was welcomed to the familiar home of the Scarabia dorm. The two walked to the entrance quietly and soon Jamil let go of him, turning around. “Is there something I need to know about?”

“Festering emotions are what power the curse.” He remembered you explaining to him and suddenly his palms began to itch. He shook his head, giving him the happy-go-lucky smile he was used to seeing. “You were having fun so I thought it’d be best to leave you alone.”

“Just…” He could hear the frustration in his voice before the eventual sigh of exhaustion. “Just don’t run off by yourself. It would spell bad things if you’d gotten hurt.”

Jamil shook his head and went on his way, leaving Kalim alone. Now that they were in the safety of the dorms, he could rest…Both of them could. Kalim quickly takes off his gloves and pressed his palms together, breathing in deep and for the first time in a while let the tears fall from his eyes.

His breathing was slow and steady, his walking slightly shakey and laborious but his palms no longer itched and the flowers halted in their growth. When he entered his room, he plopped his face into his pillow and letting it soak up all that he had felt.

Flowers were beautiful and revered for just being alive. Flowers were born lucky and he wasn’t. He breathed in deep and moved away from the pillow to breathe, his thoughts went back to your face with a smile so delicate like thin glass.

“There are moments I wanted to be born as a flower.”

Evading Jamil and regrouping with you was a new normal for him, waiting for the right moment that Jamil is busy or focused on something or someone before bolting. The botanical garden was immediately a no-go after he had caught you there twice so the two of you decided to set course for a place no one normally goes to.

The fields blew, the tall sunflowers dancing in the wind and keeping both of you hidden from sight. You huffed a small laugh. “What kind of flower would you have wanted to be like?” Kalim touched the fibrous stem of the sunflower.

“Maybe a sunflower. People like them and they give really tasty seeds.” Bringing his knees together, Kalim’s expression shifted to one of deep thought. The sun cast a soft light over them, his eyes almost glowing like rubies under it.

The brief silence between you harbored no negativity but one of understanding. You and he had bonded with the small time together and Kalim knew very well that you wouldn’t run away from these kinds of conversations. You listened and you replied with what resonated with you.

He liked your honesty and he didn’t spare any effort to show his appreciation to you.

“What about you?” He asked, looking over to you as you thought about it.

“An osiria rose. They look really pretty and the petals are white with red tips.”  Smiling to yourself, you look into your hands. “It’s a rare flower and takes a lot of breeding mixes to perfect. I really like it.” Kalim hummed and looked up to the sky as the wind crashed against them.

“Flowers are really lucky, huh?” He said, leaning back with his palms flat on the ground. “No matter how dangerous or how defensive a flower is, people still like it just because.” You never mentioned it to him but Kalim was good at hiding. His eyes, to his lips, and to the very voice he used with you; there was never a time you actually saw his grief that way he saw yours.

“The very first time Jamil was poisoned back when we were young I didn’t know what to do with myself.” His fingers shook and removed his glove and letting his bare skin grow flowers on the ground he touched, allowing flowers to grow where he touched. “He didn’t wake up until weeks later while I was escorted around by different people.” You blinked, leaning your head towards him.

“I’m sure his family was worried, his sister tried her best not to show it but I knew better.” Feeling your head on his shoulder, he reciprocated the action with a small laugh. “That was probably the time I realized how unlucky my origins were.”

“Kalim.”

“It’s a stretch, I know.” His smile morphed into a frown. “I don’t like asking for much knowing how much effort people have to make to get it done.” Your hand held his and soon, your fingers closed onto each other. “I’m fine. I just wanted to vent—.” He said but you only shook your head.

“It’s okay to cry, Kalim. I won’t say anything.” And he did, he continued looking forward yet the tears betrayed neutral expression. He sniffled when you continued to hold his hand.

“I met someone special back then. They made me very happy.” The both of you needed to move hiding places when Jamil caught wind of your meeting without him, the two of you opt to go to a field behind the school. A place not a lot of people go to, the flowers were not bountiful where you sat and the air was cooler.

While the bluebells were scattered in patches, coloring the meadow blue and green. “But I was young and stupid like most people, I thought they’d be with me for a long time.” You smiled at him, chuckling. “It’s silly but, I was really sad when they left.

“They meant a lot to you, didn’t they?” Kalim wondered.

“The meant the world to me.”

The both of you smile and your hand brought itself to your lip, a finger hooked under it. “It’s silly, really. It’s nothing like what you went through. I was so hung up on it that I ended up getting hit with the curse.” Kalim places a hand on your back as you laugh with a bitter taste in your mouth. “It’s silly, I know. It’s nothing compared to what you went through.”

“Still, losing someone important hurts a ton. Especially when you couldn’t get to say goodbye.”

Nodding your head, you lean against Kalim’s shoulder and he does the same by leaning against you. The bluebells flutter into the wind, your nose sniffling and eyes carrying a lingering sting. Kalim’s hand goes to your shoulder, rubbing it.

You hold your palms, scratching at it through the wrap. “Thank you for listening, Kalim.” You say, rubbing your eyes slightly. “I really appreciate it.”

Kalim stared into the distance, holding you close to him and not minding what little tears you chose to let out in front of him. “You did the same for me.”

The tendency to be clumsy often comes at the worst times, Kalim and your hands were wetted with some nice fruit juices he managed to snag when Jamil wasn’t looking. Both his gloves and your wraps lay soaked on the ground in front of you.

“I…” Kalim sighed and you shook your head. “Those things do get hard to wear after some time. It’s nice to feel the air again.” You rub your hands together, palms soft after being confined for so long. Kalim sits on the ground across from you. “I’m sorry, I’m sure we can find something to wrap your hands with.”

“Yup.”

The both of you looked at the items before you in silence, both of your hands to themselves and never touching at all. “Do you ever…Do you miss being able to touch things?” You ask him and he nods his head. “I do. I miss being able to feel brooms and the blankets I have. I try not to mind it much.”

You ball your palms together, interlacing fingers over each other. “I see.” Suddenly you bring out your hand to his, palm open for him to take. “But…” He hesitates but his hand comes out slowly. “It’s alright to ask for things.” You say. “Go on.”

He took a breath in, his hand inching towards yours. He thought about his first meeting and the many times he evaded Jamil just to be with you.

“I trust you.”

Did he really deserve to be able to ask for this? After all the things he’s caused?

“I do too.”

Your hands touched and mirrored each other; the itchiness he expected to feel was no longer present. The silence was tense and his shoulders and breathing were shaking yet your hold on him calm with a knowing and relieved smile on your lips. Your eyes met one another and Kalim smiled, lacing his fingers with yours and pulling you into him into a hug; his laugh tingling beside your ear.

Your hands feel the softness of the fabric and your nose breathed in the scent of his clothes. You closed your eyes, burying your face into his shoulder, bidding farewell to the old and welcoming the new as you imagined a new life ahead of you. A pot of olive flowers blooms not too far from your position as you two shared an embrace long-awaited.

Peace had been found between two kindred souls. Finally, after so long.

[ressyfaerie]

OKAY YALL. 

I haven’t been paying attention at all. 

Do you want to be really angry,

Like really, really angry? 

I’m putting this in a read more since there’s going to be a LOT and it may start a FIRE.

It was a lonely snowy night in the north of British Columbia Canada.

Just kidding.

For real though- I had no internet! We could only watch TV on satellite (the only anime I watched was on YTV). If it snowed in the winter we had to go outside and brush the snow off the satellite to continue watching Beyblade or Inuyasha. 

So I was 5-6 when I first started watching Beyblade. Of course I LOVED IT. I would rush home to try to watch it everyday. Beyblade has just airing and it was a HIT. I watched season 1 religiously, I actually don’t remember watching much of V-force or G-rev but that’s probably because it wasn’t made yet lmao. 

I grew up in a small town, whatever you’re imagining, imagine it smaller. (I could write a whole essay on the social hierarchy of Port Ed in the early 2000s but I’ll keep it short for now) White kids= rich/ pretentious, Native kids=poor. I didn’t like the attitude of most of the white girls, so I mostly made friends with the native kids (I miss yall btw) but anyways, this is where you’re going to get angry.

So I didn’t know what Japanese WAS. Like I knew what Chinese was (Small town surrounded by racists? Who would have guessed?) I don’t even think I knew Japanese existed, but any other anime I watched (Sailor moon, Inuyasha, Gundam Wing) most of the characters were white representing or had extremely light skin tones.

So what the heck was 5 year old me supposed to do with beyblade? Which was a show filled with lots of different ethnicities? 5 year old me was obsessed with beyblade, tearing apart every episode I saw, so I gathered: Max=American, Ray=Chinese, Kai=Russian (Because that’s what matched with all their championships, makes sense to a kid right?)

But what WAS Japanese? I dunno? But you know who Tyson looked like? 

My chubby native friends.

THAT’S RIGHT

YALL ARE DEBATING BIRACIAL KAI

LITTLE ME THOUGHT TYSON WAS NATIVE FOR YEEEAAAARRRSSSSS.

I’m laughing as I write this, when I learned Japan was indeed a real place, it didn’t dawn on me immediately. It still took finding beyblade online when I was like 11, re-watching it and being like ‘huh’. (Note: Remember when beyblade was on youtube but each episode was like 4 parts? Good times.) 

So, on the topic of Kai.

First of all, I need to point something out that I deem obvious, but must be said. 

Beyblade (As well as many other shows from long ago (Yugioh, Naruto, Inuyasha, and Sailor moon come to mind), a lot of us latched on to these shows so hard because of trauma or lonely childhoods. Which means a lot of us find our connections to these shows or characters very personal, which is why it’s hard to break headcannons. It’s more than a fandom for us, and any of us who feel this way, are risking their comfort show to involve themselves in the fandom (This is why I believe a lot of beyblade fans don’t interact with fandom, and I go out of my way to warmly welcome all whenever I can)

It needs to be said, that you owe no explanation to anyone, and neither do I, nor do I apologize for my headcannons.  

With this being said, I knew eventually the fandom would blow up (as it has many times, over the idea of biracial Kai/ Kai with Russian ancestry/ Japanese Kai), now that it has hit so close to home, I feel the need to validate my decision to make Kai biracial in my two long main fics. However, it needs to be stated, I am not doing this to validate myself, but because I simply want to talk about it, I’m not explaining, or apologizing, simply stating some facts, and how I feel. 

For a lot of us, these characters are so personal and we’ve kept them for so long that they’re verging on OC’s, this is NOT YOUR JOB to point out! Although I believe my Kai is very close to canon, there’s many things that aren’t, regardless, myself and many others, still belong to the fandom. 

Back to my childhood:

FINALLY DIAL-UP INTERNET!

The first thing I did when I learned how to read and had private access to internet was google ‘Kai Beyblade’, if you asked, I probably would have said a child’s equivalent to ‘“fuck you that’s why”. 

I learned his last name was Hiwatari, and man, I thought that was SO COOL. But that wasn’t a Russian name was it? I dived further, I don’t think the beyblade wiki even existed at this point, I think I was reading everything off of wikipedia. What I read was: Kai’s father was Russian and his mother was Japanese. I didn’t think too much of it, I mean, it made sense. It would explain Voltaire’s connection to Russia. Later on I realised it made more sense for Kai’s mother to be Russian since the Hiwatari name is Japanese and would most likely come from his grandfather, and for some reason, I was convinced Susumu was Voltaire’s son. The idea of Voltaire marrying his son off to some Russian heiress made so much sense to me. I never read fics, my ideas were definitely influenced by wiki edits, I had no reason to doubt it, or think any differently, I think a lot of people followed the same footsteps. It’s interesting to think that’s how headcanons became universal back in the day. 

I learned the manga existed after a trip to Metrotown Vancouver where I bought every volume they had (3 lmao) (I still haven’t read every volume, and will when I can afford them). 

I just always assumed Kai was biracial, IT JUST MADE SENSE. Kai’s family’s deep ties to Russia, the reason why he knew Russian (regardless of the Abbey), his figure compared to Tyson’s in season 1, I had no reason to doubt it, and it seemed the Dub side of the internet agreed! 

When I wrote my fanfics at 18-19, 5 (years ago now, wow), I still assumed Kai was biracial. Only recently have I dived into the fandom and got into every side (Sub, Dub, Manga). I learned there’s 3 things Dub/Sub/Manga people will instantly fight over: Kai’s race, character’s names, and their ages. 

The reason these three things are so debated is because of the dramatically different storylines/ differences in language versions. The Dub and Sub are two completely different shows when played side by side. I am most familiar with the Dub, as it stays close to my heart, which influences most of my headcanons.

I still headcanon Kai as biracial. We actually don’t know much about his parents, and canon is very loosey goosey. We’re learning more in Rising, but I highly doubt Takao Aoki is going to be like “AND THEN KAI’S MOM WENT TO VISIT HER RUSSIAN FAMILY IS RUSSIA BECAUSE SHE IS RUSSIAN” I’m not going to go into super detail why I think it’s likely that Kai is biracial, but you know what? It doesn’t really matter. This fandom is old, and being from the early 2000’s that means the dub is much different, which means there are MULTIPLE versions of canons. I guarantee you, in every version there is something problematic, and one of the least important ones, is whether or not the fandom white-washes Kai by making him biracial (Maybe full Russia could be an issue, but you know what? Does it really matter?). You know what DOES MATTER. What they did to Eddy, they did that boy dirty. 

I mean they LITERALLY white-washed him. LIKE. 

Also changing Tyson/ Takao’s skin tone in G-rev/ V-force will forever annoy me; that might be an asian skin whitening thing though, still, problematic.

But anyways, in the end I’m sure the reason why the English fandom so frequently headcanons Kai as biracial is not because of white-washing, but because of the time the Dub was created. 

The early 2000’s was an interesting time. Some towns were still stuck in the 90’s, lots of kids had no access to the internet, and when they finally DID, they did not use it wisely. Misinformation was spread easily. Not many people in America read the manga, and very few people watched the Sub.

People like me, young and old, filled in the gaps that were missing.

It’s been 20 YEARS GUYS. A lot has changed. Headcanons that aren’t problematic will stick. As long as it’s not hurting anybody, or anyone else, it’s really not a bad thing. 

Our main focus should be to keep the fandom going! We can’t die, we’ve been together too long to die and I refuse to let it happen, where will I get my serotonin from?? 

Here’s a pic of my love to end it off:

Dumb idiot loser fuckin smiles fucking lunatic.

[slippinmickeys]

Five Seconds (5/8)

If you’d like to read on AO3, you may do so here.

October 15, 2018

The leaves were beginning to change outside the window; the maples turning russet, the birch yellow. Scully felt pendulous and gravid, the child in her belly more active than her previous two combined. Sleep was becoming difficult, but by day they’d fallen into a comfortable routine, safe and unmolested from the dangers that were beginning to feel as though they had never existed at all.

She stretched and left Mulder, half his face obscured by his pillow, his lips soft and pliant in sleep. A fresh pot of decaf awaited her in the kitchen, its automatic timer set by Mulder late last night.

The kids were still asleep, as far as she could tell -- she'd heard Lily come home well after midnight. She'd been up reading anyway when her daughter had popped her head into their bedroom door and whispered "I'm home." The girl had been wearing a small smile and Scully recognized the look. Lily was falling in love.

Will shuffled into the kitchen sleepily, a palm rubbing the sleep out of his eyes. He approached Scully where she stood at the counter and put an arm around her shoulder, leaning on her. He still smelled like the sleepy little boy who liked to cuddle into her side to watch nature shows when he was six.

"Morning Mom," he said, taking a snuffly breath. He leaned down and rested his cheek against her head (he was almost as tall as Mulder, though still as skinny as a maypole). Scully wrapped her arm around his waist and pulled him in closer. Affection from her kids was getting fewer and farther between now that they were active teenagers. She was determined to enjoy whatever she got.

"Morning," she said, giving his back a little rub, "you're up early."

"Yeah," he said on a yawn. "There's an open rink this morning and a couple of buddies are going. Is it okay if I join them?"

Scully nodded. "Just make sure you tell your dad, too. Know the exits before you go and keep an eye on the crowd."

Will squeezed her once and then let go, grabbing a banana from the fruit bowl on the counter and holding up like James Bond. "Call me Double O Billy," he said and sidled back to his room off of Scully's bemused chuckle.

She spent an hour catching up on email that had been routed through the Gunmen and Darlene -- coded messages that they interpreted and sent to her mother, sister and brothers. Melissa was giving her a hard time about not letting her fly to Europe (where she thought they were) to be her doula when the time came to give birth. She was tempted to send Byers to her sister's house to explain exactly what was happening, but rejected the impulse. Their mother -- the only person other than the Gunmen and the X-Files triumvirate at the FBI who knew their situation (though not their location for her own protection) -- would talk her down eventually.

Mulder came padding up behind her as she closed the laptop and she felt a soft, drawn-out kiss on the side of her neck.

"Morning," he mumbled into her skin.

She reached up and threaded her fingers through his hair, then turned to receive his kiss.

"Morning," she said.

"I’ll be back shortly. I'm going to drop Billy off at the ice complex and then take Lil to campus -- she suddenly started liking football."

"I think it's the company rather than the sport," Scully said, turning in her chair to face him.

"...I'm going to choose to believe my version," he said.

Scully reached out and linked their fingers briefly. "Tell her to be careful," she said, "she's spending a lot of time out of the house."

Mulder nodded and squeezed her fingers. "I will," he said, "and when I get back, I have a few ideas for how we can spend our child-free afternoon." He waggled his eyebrows at her and let go, backing out of the room like the charmer he was.

XxXxXxXxXxX

“So why UVA?” Travis asked her. He had his head propped up on an elbow and his other hand was wrapped loosely around her foot, his thumb rubbing circles into her arch. She was on the couch in his dorm room and he was on the floor -- she’d been helping him study for mid-terms. They had been officially dating for five weeks and had seen each other at least every other day in that time. He’d introduced her to a couple of friends as his girlfriend.

“What?” she asked. It was hard enough to concentrate while getting a foot massage, and she’d been staring at the index cards in front of her, trying to find a question that would stump him.

“Why are you going to UVA? Brain like yours, you could have gone anywhere. I don’t think I’ve ever asked you why there.”

“Other than the in-state tuition?” She had told him that they’d moved from Virginia, but hadn’t elaborated.

“Other than that,” he smiled.

“I’ve always wanted to. When I was a kid, my dad would occasionally get called in to consult there and he would take me with him. I kinda fell in love with it.”

“What did your dad consult on?” he asked, “You don’t talk about your parents much.”

Travis tapped her other leg, and she switched feet, silencing a groan when his knuckle hit a particularly sensitive spot.

She had purposely avoided mentioning her family much and debated how much was safe to share.

“UVA has a Department of Perceptual Studies,” she said, and she saw him tilt his head in question.

“A department of what?”

“Perceptual studies,” she said, smiling, “it’s a research group devoted to the investigation of phenomena that challenge mainstream scientific paradigms regarding the nature of the mind/brain relationship.” Travis stopped rubbing her foot and looked at her. She went on, further quoting her dad’s friend Dr. Stevenson: “Their mission is the scientific empirical investigation of phenomena that suggest that currently accepted scientific assumptions and theories about the nature of mind or consciousness, and its relation to matter, may be incomplete.”

“You’re shitting me,” he said.

“I shit you not.”

“What kind of phenomena?” He narrowed his eyes at her.

She tried not to smile, “ESP, poltergeists, near-death experiences, out-of-body experiences, claimed memories of past lives.”

“And what did they want with your father?” he asked, sitting up.

She shrugged. “He’s a shrink,” she said, being deliberately vague.

“This is an accredited university?” He teased her. She kicked at him, and he ducked out of the way and laughed, then looked at her thoughtfully. “You know, I myself had an out-of-body experience with Trudy Carmichael under the bleachers when I was sixteen. Pretty sure I saw through time.”

Lily chuckled, then playfully challenged: “Do I need to worry about this Trudy Carmichael?”

“I doubt it,” he said, hanging his head, “I lost my virginity, and she lost my number. Not my finest hour.”

“A whole hour?,” Lily said wryly.

“One way to find out.”

He looked at her then and she looked back. The moment was charged and sat in between them. The truth was, Lily was still a virgin. She and Travis had messed around, but fairly innocently, and she’d demurred on action below the waist/under the clothes. “I’m not waiting for marriage,” she’d told him a few weeks back, but she did want to wait for love. If only she knew what that felt like.

“Hey, Frisbee,” Travis said when she didn’t say anything, “please don’t take this as a negotiation tactic -- you’ve been clear on your limits and I totally respect that -- and with the full understanding that you don’t need a reason, and you do you and all that -- but… do you want to talk about it?”

“Talk about what exactly?” she asked, clarifying.

“When I say ‘no pressure,’ I mean it,” he said, reaching out to squeeze her foot.

Lily looked around his sloppy dorm room. There were clothes strewn about, though mostly out of the way— socks balled up near the laundry hamper, a sweatshirt hanging on the back of a chair. The wooden loft that held his bed was posted around the couch, made of flimsy-looking two-by-fours, and did not look like it could hold his weight, much less hers in addition, and remained untried (though Travis swore it had passed inspection). His desk was more fastidiously kept, a reflection of his mind, a structured order in the midst of chaos. He was kind and smart. His smile could make her insides go liquid.

“Honestly?” she finally said, “it’s my parents.”

“Super religious?” he asked.

She had to stop herself from laughing. “No, it’s… My parents love each other. More than anyone I’ve ever known. Their love is like… romance film love. It’s practically written in the stars.”

He looked at her contemplatively. “That’s a lot to live up to,” he said. “Is that what it is?”

“Yes,” she said, then, “no.” It was and it wasn’t. She didn’t know if there was a love out there that could compare, she suspected there wasn’t. Her real hang-up, and she hadn’t been able to get it out of her head since she found her father’s first wedding picture in their attic -- was that her father had obviously made a mistake. What if she did too?

She laughed, annoyed at herself. This wasn’t Regency England. Sex didn’t mean marriage. It didn’t even necessarily mean love. Still...

“Come on,” she said, sitting up and grabbing for his class notes, “this bio exam isn’t going to take itself.”

XxXxXxXxXxX

A sound woke her. Her hips were in agony and sleeping was difficult, so initially she was more annoyed than anything; she could rarely line up more than 90 minutes straight of deep slumber. And then she heard it again.

She reached over, squeezed Mulder's bicep until she heard him sniff sharply awake and silently, pulled out the sidearm she kept inside her bedside table. Mulder, slipping out of bed without a word, pulled out his own gun and went to the door. He held up a hand, trying to tell Scully to stay back, but she shook her head angrily -- she would have his back whether he liked it or not.

When he moved into the hallway, she stepped on the back of his heel and he ended up ramming his shoulder into the doorframe. He swore low under his breath. They were out of sync.

She watched as he put his head into the kids rooms as he made his way down the hallway, nodding at her that they were both accounted for. One more thunk from the living room.

He sidled up to the wall that led to the room and backed up against it. He mouthed one-two-three and they went in, but where she usually went low and he went high, this time they rammed shoulders and stumbled into the room. Mulder flicked on the light when she finally had her weapon aimed true.

There, sitting on a high bookshelf sat Apgar, her black tail swishing merrily. Maintaining eye contact, she swiped one more of the professor's knick-knacks off the shelf and onto the floor.

Mulder dropped his weapon and heaved a sigh, tipping his head back in frustration. "Fucking cat," he hissed.

Mission completed, Apgar jumped down with a thump and weaved a figure eight between Mulder's legs.

"She must be hungry," Scully said.

"Hangry was invented by cats," Mulder mumbled, reaching down to pet the cat with his free hand.

"Our tactical coordination was atrocious," Scully said, flicking the light back off and holding her gun at her hip.

"Yes," Mulder agreed.

"When was the last time you went to the range?" she asked.

"It's been months," he said tiredly.

"We're going tomorrow," Scully said. Mulder knew better than to argue.

XxX

There were more than a few Molon Labe bumper stickers in the parking lot. Scully had to remind herself that they were in Michigan Militia territory. "Michitucky," she'd heard it called by a few guys at the Bureau. Nevertheless, she pulled up to the firing range with fire in her blood. She might not share their politics, but she would share their space, and show most of them up to boot.

They signed in and bought ammunition. She got a few extra looks for being a visibly pregnant woman, but most of the men (and they were all men) who were at the range gave her begrudging looks of approval. Mulder stood, standing straighter and closer than normal, practically growling at anyone who got too close. She had to admit that his fierce protective nature was more than a turn-on.

The range was outdoors -- different than what they were used to at Quantico. And where there were metal tables and dividers and state of the art equipment at the government facility, here it was all beat-to-shit plywood tables and sunburnt grass littered with shell casings and old ear plugs. They took the lane at the end.

They both loaded and checked their weapons, snugged earmuffs over their heads.

"You want to go first?" Mulder asked, double checking the safety on his pistol and setting it on the table behind their station.

"I can do that," Scully said, looking down at her Sig.

"Care for a little wager?" her husband asked.

"You can't afford me, Dr. Mulder," she said, admiring the still-lanky line of his physique.

He raised his eyebrows, and leaned back against the tall wobbly table. "Oh-ho," he said, "I suppose that depends on the currency." He had a smug look about him that she wanted to wipe off his face. She was a better marksman and more competitive than anyone gave her credit for.

"What are you offering?" she asked.

"Dishes?" he offered, "Laundry?"

"We had children for the menial labor," she challenged, "I can win this with one hand tied behind my back. Make it interesting for me."

He licked his lips. She had him.

"I liked the part about 'hands behind the back,'" he said, "Winner decides who wears the handcuffs."

"You're not exactly incentivizing this, Mulder."

He had a flushed look about him; his nostrils flared.

"Prove it," he said, and she felt a flush. Second trimester hormones could be a beautiful thing, she mused.

It took her several rounds before she got back into the groove. It actually had been too long since she'd practiced and she was rusty. Considering their current situation, she ought not to let it happen again. Her last few rounds were dead center. Once her clip was empty, she cleared her weapon and stepped back.

Mulder's turn.

He wasn't quite as out of practice as she was initially, which irritated her to no end. However, his fourth and fifth shots were a bit wide, and he ended around the edges.

When he was clear, she stepped back up and took a bracing breath. She raised her weapon and fired rapidly; all her shots were center mass except the last two, which she swung up and finished with perfect shots to the head of the paper dummy.

When Mulder stepped forward for his turn, she nudged him.

"How big would you say the back of the Yukon is?'" she asked casually.

His first three shots went wide.

XxXxXxXxXxX

October 17, 2018

“Mom?” Lily asked. There was a hesitancy in her voice that made Scully look up from where she was chopping vegetables for dinner. “How did you know you loved Dad?”

Scully set the knife down and turned toward her daughter. “That’s a big question, Lil.”

“What’s a big question?” Mulder came breezing into the kitchen, shooting Scully an intrigued look.

Scully suspected something was up, but didn’t want to embarrass their daughter. Lily had always had an inquisitive streak and would occasionally come to Scully with problems or questions, but she was apt to clam up when pressed.

“Lily was asking me about how I fell in love with you,” Scully said, trying to catch Mulder’s eye.

“It was the day she met me, no doubt,” Mulder said. He grabbed an apple out of the bowl on the counter and shined it on his sleeve before taking a snappy bite. “I’m catnip to the ladies,” he said around the mouthful. Lily smiled. Scully rolled her eyes.  

“Suddenly, I’m struggling to remember,” Scully said with mock derision. Mulder gave her a cheeky grin.

“Did you know right away?” Lily asked.

Scully paused. “Not… Not right away,” she said thoughtfully.

Lily looked back and forth between her parents. “I guess it was a long time ago, huh.”

“Love in a time of sarsaparilla,” Mulder said dreamily. Scully shook her head and he caught her eye. “It wasn’t that long ago, Lil,“ he went on, and Scully felt the low bloom of feeling that always accompanied a look from her husband. For as long as she lived, she would always remember the first time she felt it; on the Tooms case, when he’d hooked his finger in her necklace and pulled.

“No, what I mean is… it was complicated,” Scully clarified.

Lily nodded and turned to her father. “You were married. Before Mom.”

“Yes,” Mulder said.

“Did you love her? Your ex wife?”

“I thought I did.”

“When did you figure out that you didn’t?” Lily asked.

“When I met your Mom,” Mulder said.

“So what you felt with Mom…”

“... was so much bigger than I was, that I couldn’t contain it.”

Scully felt her eyes well up. Mulder still sometimes had the ability to make her feel things all the way down to her toes.

Lily smiled, but looked pensive.

"But you thought you loved this other woman? I mean, enough to marry her?" she asked.

Mulder narrowed his eyes at his daughter. "What are you asking, Lil?"

Lily shook her head, her cheeks pink. She grabbed a soda from the fridge and walked out of the room.

“Oh boy,” said Scully.

“What?” Mulder asked.

“Travis,” said Scully. “She’s trying to figure it all out.”

“Jesus, he didn’t propose, did he?” Mulder asked. The look on his face was enough to make her laugh, but she held it in.

Scully turned fully to Mulder and leaned back against the countertop, crossing her arms in front of her.

“You want to know what I think?” she asked. Mulder nodded. “She’s trying to decide whether or when to...” She made a vague gesture with her hands.

Mulder looked at her, still not understanding. Scully gave him the stare of the dotard husband.

“Mulder…” she said, glaring hard.

Realization dawned and Mulder swallowed. “I should have had that boy killed,” he said.

Scully turned back to the vegetables she’d been chopping. “Let’s refrain from wetwork while we’re on the lam.”

“I make no promises,” he said, and slid up behind her, stepping in close and putting his hands on her waist.  

“I had the guys check him out by way of Darlene,” Scully said. “He is who he says he is. And he seems like a decent kid. Let’s let her navigate this on her own, huh?” She felt his fingers squeeze and then they drifted down to rest on her hips.

“I don’t like it,” he mumbled, and leaned down to rest his chin on her shoulder.

“You’re not supposed to,” she said. “But you do have to accept it, and trust that we raised her to make these decisions for herself.”  She remembered being nineteen and in college and in love for the first time. “You want to hear about Kevin McAvoy, my freshman year boyfriend?”

Mulder squeezed his fingers again and then started to turn her slowly toward him. She set down the knife on the counter and let him. His head was bent toward her and she felt his breath fan her face.

“No,” he said, leaning even more into her personal space.

“I was his Little Red Corvette,” she said playfully, tipping her head back in challenge. He smiled, but she saw something rough pass through his eyes. “He’d put on Prince and --”

Mulder leaned down and silenced her with a kiss.

XxXxXxXxXxX

In her room, Lily sat on the bed, the can of soda from the fridge sitting unopened on her bedside table. Condensation beaded on the side of it, sliding down silently to pool at the base, unnoticed.

Crusher liked to sleep on her pillow, and had left a black felted indent in the feathers, which Lily brushed away and fluffed. She looked about the room. Not much about it spoke of the young woman who slept there and had for months; no posters on the walls, no pennants hanging or pictures of friends. It was a sterile guest room decorated with the mute tones of an unmarried 60-something and lately it had been making her feel like she wasn't even herself.

She stood and walked to the desk, the one place she deposited her things. Her wallet, the phone Darlene had given her that she rarely used and usually kept switched off. Her purse was half hanging off -- likely knocked into such a position by a passing cat -- and when she righted it, she noticed the picture that sat under it. The photo of her father and an unfamiliar brunette, who's face conveyed confidence -- almost a smugness -- and a certain charm.

She stared at the picture. And she wondered.

XxX

October 20, 2018

Lily glanced over her shoulder when she sat, feeling as though she were doing something illegal, something fraught.

No one really used the computer labs anymore -- if you needed to, you could write an entire paper on your phone, though Lily found the practice ridiculous and immature. Nevertheless, there were one or two students sitting at the various desktops around the small library lab, and she checked to make sure no one was paying attention to what she was doing.

She tried to be careful. She had told Travis that she was hoping to log into the university's network to prep for some of the classes she’d be taking at UVA next semester and so she was using his password and login information. She'd checked to make sure there were no cameras on the area where she sat, and that her back was to the one aimed at the larger area.

With a bracing breath, she logged on.

It was surprising what you could find with a simple Google search, and the commonwealth of Virginia's vital records office would send you a copy of any marriage certificate for a fee of $45. Knowing better than to use a credit card, she'd opted for a more in depth search, and found what she was looking for in the Daily Press -- the local newspaper of record in Newport News, Virginia.

It was a wedding announcement, complete with two pictures -- one, the same picture she'd found in her parent's attic and the other of a similar style -- of Fox William Mulder and Lauren Edith Williams, married on August 17th, 1988. According to the article, Lauren had been a recent graduate of Georgetown University and had been employed at Schuster and McClure, a PR firm in the District of Columbia.

Lily looked at the new photograph on the screen before her. Her father looked so young. Only a few years older than herself. Lauren was pretty, had perfect posture, and was staring into the camera like a dare; her dress was all frills and white froth, the material of the dress ruched in large poofs at the shoulders, a crown of satin flowers around the lush brunette curls on her head. She looked like someone Lily wouldn't have dared talk to back in high school. She looked nothing like Lily's mother.

Lauren Edith Williams, she wrote down, and stared at the paper in front of her.

XxXxXxXxXxX

October 21, 2018

Lily was on the bus when she noticed him. It was his age that first drew her attention. Most everyone that rode this route (it went right into campus) was either a student or a professor, and something about him seemed the antithesis of scholarly. He had a sharp face, was dressed in loose clothing, a plain, black ball cap pulled low over his head. His knee bounced where he sat. She thought she could make out a tattoo curling onto the skin under the sleeve of his jacket. He could have been custodial staff for all she knew, but her parents had raised her to trust her instincts, and something inside of her pinged.

He hadn’t so much as looked in her direction, but she reached up and pulled the cord that requested a stop anyway, keeping him in her periphery when the bus rolled to the next stop. She was five blocks further away than she would have liked -- she was supposed to meet Travis just off campus for lunch. The man didn't move or rise from his seat. Nevertheless, she ducked out of the back door and onto the sidewalk, shouldering her purse and pretending to look at her phone. Only when the bus left with the man still on it would she exhale. The bus had just started to roll forward when it chirped to a stop and the front doors opened. The man in the cap trotted down the steps and onto the sidewalk, glancing briefly at her before turning and walking slowly west. Adrenaline awash in her bloodstream, she turned east.

The man had had a nondescript face. He was of average height and build, not someone you'd notice. She wracked her brain trying to remember when or if she'd seen him before, and had a hazy recollection of someone who might have been him: waiting outside of Travis's dorm when she'd come to visit him a couple days prior, or maybe even standing behind her in line at a coffee shop the day before. She should have been paying closer attention. Her parents had taught her to pay closer attention. Up until she'd done a search on her father and his ex-wife, she had. Lily silently cursed at herself.

She looked at her reflection in the shop windows along Grand River Avenue, trying to catch a glimpse behind her. She caught movement, but there were plenty of other people walking up and down the sidewalk. She needed a better look.

She swung up the stairs of the Student Union when she came to it a moment later, remembering walking in with her brother and dad only the month before, and felt the sharp pang of guilt.

When she reached the top of the staircase, she stopped to retie her shoe, glancing back behind her as she did so. The man in the cap was there, and had paused a ways away, looking down at his phone. Lily finished fiddling with her shoe and casually walked to the door, holding it open for a girl who was coming out, her heart hammering in her chest as she did so. Through the large doorway was a wide set of stairs going both up and down. When the door closed behind her, she bolted down the stairs to her right. There were a number of study spaces and she could pass through each one fairly quickly -- the day was busy and there were students everywhere; if she was lucky she could get lost in the crowd.

She ducked through the main lounge and past the small coffee shop on the lower level, looking behind her. She saw nothing, but that didn't mean he still wasn't coming. Seeing the full racks of clothing in the Spirit Shop across the hallway, she went inside, bending down to pretend to look at a few items on the bottom shelf.

Peering through underneath the hanging shirts, she watched as the man in the black cap came down the hallway outside of the shop and paused, turning toward it. Her heart leapt to her throat. He did a slow turn and then turned to keep walking. She kept her head down.

From the corner of her eye she caught her own reflection in the mirror outside the tiny dressing room -- she was wearing a bright blue shirt and her hair -- as bright and reflective as a stop sign, and always a part of herself she was fond of -- would give her away.

She stood, scanning the hallway outside the shop, and then she hastily pulled a green knit cap off a nearby shelf and pulled the tag off, shoving it over her head and tucking her hair up under it as quickly as she could. She grabbed a large tee shirt off the rack nearest her and took it plus the hat's tag to the counter, pulling some cash that her parents always had her carry out and plunking it on the counter.

"I don't need a receipt, thanks," she told the young woman helping her, and turned away.

"But what about your change?" the girl called after her.

"Tip jar," she said, turning back and keeping her voice low.

Once outside the store, she pulled the tee shirt over her head and made her way for the lower level exit that emptied onto campus. Seeing no one behind her, she took the steps out as fast as they would carry her and ran.

XxX

Darlene narrowed her eyes at Lily, and opened the door. “Quickly,” she said.

“Thanks,” Lily said, as Darlene let her into the house, peering around the block. “I didn’t want to use the phone.”

“I get it,” Darlene replied as she ushered Lily into her kitchen, where Lily sank onto one of the stools that sat before the peninsula of the counter.

"You want a lemonade or something, kiddo?" Darlene asked, leaning forward against the counter herself and giving Lily an expectant look -- there was more to it than just polite hospitality.

"No, thanks," Lily said, feeling the weight of Darlene's gaze and her own guilt in equal measure.

"Did you do something stupid?" Darlene asked outright and Lily, taken aback, sat up straighter, but didn't answer, thus confirming Darlene's clear suspicion. "How bad?"

"I think they found us."

Darlene huffed a breath. "Elaborate," she said.

"I... I ran a search. A couple days ago, in the university library. I was careful, but maybe not careful enough."

"What did you search?"

"My dad's ex-wife."

Darlene gave a low whistle. "Kiddo," she said, a statement.

"I know."

"Have you considered just asking him about her?"

Lily hugged herself.

"I have. I did. But… I wanted to know. For me. I don't want his version of this woman. I wanted to see for myself who she was. Is."

Darlene moved to the window and peered out, lowering the blinds as she did so. "Did you find what you were looking for?"

Lily once again felt a pang of guilt. She looked down. "Not really."

Darlene moved around the counter to a sideboard table on the dining room side of the counter and began shuffling through a drawer.

"What makes you think they found you?" she asked.

"I think there's someone following me," Lily said, "I think maybe I’ve seen him a couple of times on campus, but I don’t know. I lost him and came here."

"Just one someone?"

Lily began to second guess herself.

"I think so?"

When Darlene straightened from the sideboard she was holding a pistol.

"Call your father right now, and tell him to get over here. Armed." Darlene's words were cold and calm. Lily's stomach dropped in her gut.

She reached for Darlene's phone, a relic from another time which hung on the wall, its cord coiled like a snake.

Darlene walked to the sliding glass door as she dialed the numbers, each tone sounding long and drawn out, Darlene pulled the long curtains closed with a snap.

"Dad?" Lily said, when Mulder answered.

"Hey Lil!" he sounded so relaxed, excited just to talk to her though he'd seen her that morning.

"Dad, I'm at Darlene's. She says to get over here. She said to bring your gun."

She heard his sharp inhale. “I’m coming,” he said, and then she heard a dial tone.

"Lily," said Darlene, walking over to her computer, which was booted up and sitting on her dining room table, cords snaking out of it and across the floor. She quickly typed hunt-and-peck with her right hand, the gun still clutched in her left. "I want you to go into the top right drawer in my dresser. In a small lockbox, code 9-10-9-3, you'll find an old Nokia phone. It should be fully charged. It’s untraceable. Do not turn it on. Take it. Put it somewhere safe -- your bra or your sock or underwear. Then get under my bed."

Lily walked to the hallway, her body on autopilot, her heart hammering and her blood roaring in her veins.

Darlene finished typing, clicked a few things with her mouse and then peeked an eye out the closed curtain toward the backyard, tapping the gun against the side of her thigh.

Pausing in the hallway, Lily turned back to Darlene.

"Is someone coming?" Lily asked.

"Kid," Darlene said, shooting her a look, "they're already here."

[anotheronechicagobog]

Call Me By Her Name - Chapter 1 - Leslie!

Relationships: Connor Rhodes x Ava Bekker, Ava Bekker x Leslie Shay, Connor Rhodes x Sarah Reese

Written by: @anotheronechicagobog

Warnings: Internalized homophobia, homophobia, swearing

Connor and Ava were at his apartment, having gone to drinks at a restaurant a block away under the guise of talking about a case they had together, and now they were entwined on his California king bed. They were having sex, hot, angry, steamy sex. And when they were almost at the climax, at the end, at the part where you call out your lover’s name.

“Ava...” Connor was close but she was closer.

“Leslie!”

Connor froze. 

What?

He hadn’t finished, but she had and was revelling in the pleasure while he was above her, his brain processing what just happened. He rolled off of her and lay next to her in complete silence. His girlfriend called out someone else’s name while they were having sex. And he recognized who the name belonged to, PIC Leslie Shay, though he wasn’t sure if that made things better or worse. “Connor? Are you alright?”

“... You called out for ‘Leslie’ when you came.”

“Oh.”

“This is probably something we should talk about.”

“I disagree.”

“Of course you do, look, we’re dating Ava. We just had sex and you called out for someone who isn’t me, your boyfriend. This is the kind of thing we need to talk about.” Ava stole the comforter from the bed, wrapping it around herself, before leaving the bedroom. “I disagree.” Connor angrily plopped his head back on his pillow with a huff, he was too tired to deal with this shit.

-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

“... And I just don’t get why she won’t talk about it! This is a pretty important thing to ignore, I mean was it a slip of the tongue or does she actually want to be with Shay? And if she does want to be with Shay, why is she stringing me along?”

“You seriously don’t know why she’s ignoring this? And that she’s the only one stringing along your relationship? You’re an idiot, Connor.” He wasn’t sure when he and Natalie became friends but he knows why; Will Halstead. After Will had kissed her in the ‘don’t you know?’ incident, Nat had run into Connor as they were both leaving, and she really needed to talk about it to someone who wouldn’t push her towards him, because as much as she loves her friends that was exactly what they would do. And so they’d gone to Natalie’s and spent the night ranting about Will. Of course, Natalie was now dating him and Connor considered him a friend, but they remained friends and met when they could to be each other’s soundboard. Flabbergasted Connor put down his fork. “And how am I being an idiot for being frustrated that my girlfriend won’t communicate.”

“Connor, what country is she from?”

“South Africa.”

“What is South Africa’s stance on homosexuality?”

“Oh.”

“Yeah.”

“I mean, it’s not illegal there, right? And same-sex marriage and adoption is also legal...”

“But there is still a lot of discrimination and violence towards the LGBTQ+ community there, and some of the neighbouring countries aren’t as tolerant. And maybe her family isn’t open-minded, she could be dealing with internalized homophobia.”

“I’m an idiot.”

“Yup.”

-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

He thought about Ava’s connection to Shay throughout shift and he felt more foolish as time went on. There were longing glances from both sides, excessive toughing, and heavy flirting. The only thing that kept them apart was Ava jumping back ten feet at the last second.

When Connor got home the first thing he did was go on google. He wanted to help her. He’d done a lot of thinking about their relationship and he realized it was flawed. It was never going to work out. But... If he could help Ava overcome her internalized homophobia, maybe she could be with the woman of her dreams; Leslie Shay. After a couple of hours, he’d come up with some good information, great sources, and three pages of notes, but ultimately he recognized that he couldn’t force her to accept anything and that ultimately she’d be the one going doing the self-realization. The most he could do was support her as much as possible, if she even accepted his support.

-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Their next off day Ava showed up at ten in the morning wearing a low-cut blouse and a mischievous smile. “Connor, are you busy today?”

“No, but I guess that’s a good thing because we need to talk.”

“This again? Really? Connor, it was nothing-”

“No Ava, it wasn’t nothing. We were having sex, and you called me by her name.”

“‘Her’ who?”

“Leslie Shay. The woman you really want to be with, not me.”

“It was just a slip of the tongue.”

“No, it wasn’t, and don’t try to pretend it was. Look, date her or don’t you’re your own person, I can’t make your choices for you. But, I can make choices for myself. It’s over, Ava, we’re done. Neither of us deserves to put any more effort into something that’s just circling the drain.”

“Don’t you love me, Connor? I love you.”

“I don’t believe you. I can’t believe you actually. I see the way you look at her, listen to you when you talk about her, see the way you gravitate towards her when she’s around, and I feel like a moron for not seeing it sooner. There’s nothing wrong with loving another woman Ava, and she clearly loves you back. Don’t you want to be happy? We both deserve better than this, don’t we?”

“Oh, this is just rich coming from you. So what if I said someone else’s name? So have you!”

“What are you talking about? I’ve never said anyone else’s name while we were having sex!”

“But you did when you were sleeping!”

“What?”

“Yes, that little psych resident you have a crush on, you mumble her name in your sleep sometimes. I’m not the only one responsible for this catastrophe, so don’t put that blame on me. I didn’t even mean to say her name, okay? I’m not gay, I can’t be gay.”

She left Connor gaping at her from his doorway as she skulked down the hall towards the elevators

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EIGHT MONTHS LATER 

Ava was still not talking to him, and when she was her tongue was a razor-blade. It came to the point that they were put on opposite schedules, unless absolutely necessary because the work environment had become so hostile. Dr. Latham had personally given him a long, tortuous lecture about why dating your colleagues was a horrible idea and now the entire cardiology department was paying the price. He wasn’t wrong, and Connor was ashamed, but he really wasn’t sure he could have handled it better than he did. He’d never been very eloquent when talking about his feelings, but he’d tried to be as articulate as possible when he broke it off, for both of their sakes. Today had been especially hard, not only had this been one of the few shifts he and Ava been required to work together, but their patient died, and their patient was revealed to be in a same-sex relationship with the woman the patient’s conservative family thought was just her roommate. The day was long and hard and sad, and just hit way too close to home. He and Ava made eye contact from opposite sides of the hospital entrance, and his soul ached a little more at the vacant look in her eyes. But they weren’t dating anymore, they weren’t even friends anymore, so there really wasn’t anything he could do except turn away and go home. So that’s what he did.

He was halfway through The Mummy, O’Connel and Evelyn were fighting about whether or not they should be saving the world when there was a knock on his door. He paused the movie but debated not getting up. It was probably just one of his neighbour’s mistresses looking for somewhere to hide (again), because his wife had come home early (again), because she suspected her husband was cheating on her while she was at work (again). But the knocking started up again, so he sighed and got up. The person on the other side of the door was the last person he expected to see.

“Ava. What are you-”

“You were right. About Leslie, you were right.” Her eyes were red and sniffled slightly as she talked, she was shaking and she just looked so scared. “I don’t know what to do.”

“C’mere. I don’t know what to do either, Ava, but we’ll figure it out. I’ll do whatever I can to help you. I’m here for you.” And just like that, the waterworks started for both of them. They must’ve looked like a right mess, clinging to each other in the doorway and bawling like it was the end of the world. Which it was somewhat, their current world was ending, and a new one was beginning.

[honeycashmere]

Love On The Brain

Warnings: Smut, face fucking, a little rough, angsty, a little possessive side to Chris

Summary: You ever been in a relationship where both you and your boyfriend have an attitude but love each other like crazy and sort of break up almost all the time only to make up all the time with some freaky sex? Yeah me too. Chris breaks up with unnamed ofc, a young feisty women. Her mind debates as she thinks of the time she was better on her own. After a stormy confrontation at her house she realizes a couple things...

Note: I posted this on my AO3 acct (@ goodonesgo) on August 14, 2017

It has been eight months since Chris broke up with me and within those eight months I found out, he began dating some no-name actress he was working with. He said it was because I was “too busy” and that going the distance would be “too hard right now” … Really? Real love is about sacrifices. I had to stand my ground which I’m sure no one he’s ever dated has done. I had to stand up for myself but I slightly bashed him in the process. Stating that I didn’t want to take a five month break to not do anything with my career like him. Yup I threw the shade. I mean I was a savage, not trying to be degrading just simply stating the facts. I was Miss Petty but what did he expect? I could’ve said worse. What little I said was enough to infuriated him. We knew how to push each other’s buttons when we wanted to.

Not only that but he knew what he was getting himself into. I’m working hard so hard right now to have stable future and to take care of my family for life. Money doesn’t just grow on trees. I mean, they do but they go through a lot to get into my pocket. I couldn’t stop my life and jump whenever he said jump. I know what you’re thinking, I sound like those crazy ambitious women who wear the balls in the relationship but that’s not the case at all. Yes it’s true, I want a long lasting career but in a relationship I want to take the back seat. I want to be taken care of because I spend a lot of time taking care of everyone in my life. Chris had brought so much happiness into my life and some stress when we broke up. I wish he was just more understanding. Maybe it was our age difference.

Every time I try to convince myself that I am not better on my own. That maybe just maybe I really do need someone to rely on, the world shows me something. Whether it was an ex friend’s true colors or another loser I had fallen for. The universe gives me signs. I’m better on my own. It was all unfair. Because if he were in my shoes and our relationship had to take the back seat so he could achieve his goals and dreams than I would of supported it. Instead he dumped me and within four months started dating his co-star on a new movie.

I had just finished a movie and headed home to my little place in LA. I was going to hang out with friends and possibly have a spa day tomorrow. After having to fly for over six hours, all I wanted was a pizza and a Netflix binge. It was 2 o’clock in the afternoon and I was already in my oversized t-shirt and shorts. I couldn’t be happier though. Sounds lame right? Honestly it is going to be the perfect Saturday evening with no interrupt-

Brrrp Brrrp

Shit. I forgot to turn off my phone. I quickly glanced down and saw his name. I feel myself freeze. We haven’t talked in months. What does he want?

Hey can we talk? Heard you were in town. This was 20 minutes ago.

The last text message said: I’m outside. 2 minutes ago.

I can’t believe this mother- I look out my window to see his car in my drive way. I went to open my door and muttered, “What the fuck?” as I saw Chris get out of his car. I stood in front of my door way, definitely dressed incorrectly to entertain a uninvited guest. “What do you want?” “No hello?” he brushed the back of his head with his finger tips looking timid as ever but then noticed my outfit or lack there of. He started looking me up and down.

(Just imagine Chris showing up to your house looking like THIS.)

“Hello. What do you want?” I repeated, this time trying not to sound too brash. He stood there tall, his hands tucked into his jean pockets, the fabric of his shirt tightened in right places, making his muscles visible even hidden under… Shit. I need to stop. “I just wanted to talk to you. It will be short,” he said probably trying to reassure my already suspicious thoughts. “Can I come inside?”

“Hmm short talks don’t usually mean an invitation inside someone’s house.” I couldn’t stop myself. I was always a smart ass which is why Chris liked me in the first place. I broke face. I slightly laughed after my own comment, letting him know it was kind of okay to come into my house. I’ll probably regret it later.

“I thought you hated me,” he said, taking a look around my house. “I’m just trying to be polite. Now tell me why you came here.”

Chris paused as he looked at a picture sitting on my bookshelf causing him to sigh. It was a picture of us and his family at Disney World. He stayed silent, looking at our photo. Probably remember the story behind it, filling his mind with nostalgia. Which he loved by the way. I interrupted his thoughts by casually saying, “I haven’t been home in months. I didn’t take anything down yet.”

He turned his head and looked at me. “That’s actually why I wanted to see you, I wanted to talk to you about everything. Life has been crazy.” I felt like I knew where this was heading. I couldn’t let him charm me. “You can’t do this,” I said crossing my arms. “You can’t end it the way you ended it and expect me to be your shoulder to lean on. We can’t be friends.” By the look on Chris’s face I could tell he was offended. “That’s kind of harsh.”

“Breaking up with me and dating someone you worked very closely with… Someone you told me ‘not to worry about’… is kind of harsh.” I knew that had to hurt a pinch if not a slap but it was the truth. When I found out… I couldn’t believe it. All my friends tried to convince me it was a ‘rebound’ girl but I knew better… He stared at me in disbelief that I went there. “Sooooo we can’t be friends?” His voice went up in protest.

“No, we can’t,” I said firmly. I began walking towards the front door. I was ready to open it and hopefully get him out of my house. Chris took a deep breath trying to calm his frustration with me. “After everything we’ve been through… I wanted to say I’m sorry. I made a mistake... We broke up already.” “I don’t see how that changes anything.” What does he expect me to do? Just pretend this didn’t happen?

“She isn’t you.”

I visibly roll my eyes at him. Did he really just- I can’t. Did he really just say that? My annoyance grew. I could feel the heat of my frustration grow within me. “Yeah okay but you did what you did, and it doesn’t change anything.” “Can’t you forgive me?!” Chris asked genuinely.

“It’s not that easy.” I can hear the sudden raise in my voice. I tried to calm it. I took a deep breathe and reached for my next word. "You made me feel really bad... for being driven. You know that’s who I am. I want a successful career before a family. I’m young and you made me feel bad for wanting what I want. Then you dated that bitch.”

“Yeah and you made me feel bad for wanting to spend time with my family and taking a break.” He returned the attitude.

There was a moment of silence. I mustered up the courage and walked towards him. “It’s over, I don’t even know why you’re still here. This doesn’t change the fact that you broke us up.” I whispered. I felt both of his hands grip my arms firmly. “But I want to fix this. I want this. I should of been more understanding. You were right, you told me from the beginning what you wanted and I stupidly thought otherwise.”

He reached for the back of my neck pulling me into his kiss. I gasp and try to fight it but I can feel myself wanting his lips against mine. A feeling of passion I missed. The smell of his cologne, his firm muscular body, even the touch of the fabric on his shirt made me want this all back. My body began relaxing, getting familiar with his again. The heat coming off our bodies. Come on, stop. I hear my internal voice say. I forced myself to pull away from his strong grip.

“You can’t do this,” my voice cracks. Oh god. I really didn’t mean to sound so vulnerable.

“I only love you,” he said.

I looked away from his gaze. I knew I still wanted Chris. What I didn’t know is if I’d be able to take him back that easily. But he left me high from one kiss, like inhaling the first puff of thick smoke. “I don’t know what you do to me,” I say desperately.

Within a second I was pulled into him by his strong arms again. He rested his forehead against mine, breathing me in, and holding me so tightly I couldn’t even push him away if I tried. I looked up, staring at those blue eyes that usually hid when he was hurt but they were as visible as ever.

“Please,” he whispered. I should of said “leave” or “go“ but all I could get out was, “Fuck.” His lips crashed into mine and my body was lifted into his arms. He carried me from my living room to my bedroom, it all felt so familiar to me. Chris laid me on to my bed, quickly climbing on top of me.

“You’re mine.” He face turns into a determined expression with a small smirk creeping.

“Wow,” I rolled my eyes and laughed at him only making him chuckle. His hand pulled away my shirt, throwing the fabric on to the floor, exposing my skin. He started running his fingers up my side which made me tingle surprisingly.

“You think I’m kidding?” He smirked, his voice became low. “You belong to me.”

I couldn’t help but grin. He did charm me again with his delicious determination. “Then fucking prove it,” I said.

Chris kept that smirk on his face, scooting lower, pulling my bottoms off so more skin would be exposed. He kissed my thigh. I felt his finger hooked my panties, pulling them off of me quickly. The urgency to feel his touch was overwhelming. I lifted myself up using my elbows to watch what he would do next. One hand caressed up my body towards my mouth. He let two of his fingers slip into my mouth, letting me suck and lick them. Moistening them as began kissing my other thigh.

Chris slightly caressed my opening before slipping his two wet fingers inside of me. He didn’t even wait for my to response, they were fully inside of me and I gasped at the feeling. I couldn’t even remember the last time we've touched. He moved his face closer to my clit. I could feel the heat from his breath on my skin. How I wanted him to fuck me soon… instead his tongue found it’s way to my clit causing me to let out a moan.

I tilt my head back enjoying the pleasure he was giving me. How I wanted him to leave, how I wanted him to stay. He knew what to do to drive me crazy… He worked fingers in and out of me. I could tell from his sensual movements that he was determined to make me cum. I felt another finger find it’s way inside me and I looked up at him in shock. I was enjoying the stretch. I orgasmed so fast. Panting, moaning uncontrollably, and then I laid there flat enjoying my endorphins as I was wildly aroused awaiting his next step. I watched him quickly remove his clothes. Chris came up to my face hovering over me with a satisfied boyish smirk. He gave me a quick kiss too.

My orgasm was so good I was ready to please him as well. “I want you to fuck my face.” His eye widen at his smirk got bigger. “And then I want you to fuck me.”

Chris eagerly stood on my bed as I sat up on my knees. His cock was already erect. Right in front of me. I look up at him smiling giving his head a lick before taking him in my mouth. I felt his hands already on my head guiding me before he started thrusting into my mouth. His pace was steady and my mouth became messy. All my moisture coating his cock as he fucked my face and some of it dripped out of my mouth. He would stop sometimes only to let me catch my breath but I was ready. I was ready to be fucked. I grab his hands from my head, moving them away as I laid on the bed on my stomach, turning my head to look up at him. I arched my back a little, letting my ass stick up a bit.

Chris came down, grabbing my cheeks and massaging them with his strong hands even giving them a kiss. “God I’ve missed this. Your ass is so beautiful,” he gazed at it before giving it a nice slap causing me grin because I loved the mixture of pleasure and a little pain. Het got behind me, rubbing the tip against my entrance before sliding into me where we both moaned experiencing our mutual pleasure. I keep my eyes on Chris as he begins thrusting deeply in and out of me. His lips pressed against my shoulder. He steadied his breathing making sure as he thrusted in and out of me that I really felt him. My body almost forgot how good his cock felt. It would even feel more incredible if I was on top of him.

“Get off,” I said. Chris looked confused but did as so. “Lay down baby.” He complied liking my change in mood. I give him a kiss before getting on him reverse cowgirl style. I knew he would enjoy the view since his hands touched my ass as soon as I slid down on him. I began grinding on him really letting his hard cock hit me in the right spot. From the feeling of Chris’s hands gripping my skin to his pleasurable groans I could tell he was enjoying it too. I throw my head back really riding him, taking my time to build my orgasm. God it felt so good. I could feel Chris’s hands slap my ass cheeks again. I knew he was close and being patient with me. Enjoying the work I was putting in until I felt him sit up, grabbing me on top of him. My back to his chest, my legs spread and his legs bent. He began thrusting into me, his fingers finding their way to my clit as he began to rub but he gets impulsive again. He changes the script and flips me over so I’m on my stomach. He pulls me up so my back is arched and our bodies reconnect as he starts thrusting harder into me. My hands grip the sheets, my mouth bites the pillow as I’m being fucked roughly by him. One of his hands pushed my head into the pillow with the grip of my hair and the other hand wondered my body. I feel him reach for my clit wanting to make sure I cam before him and when I did I screamed in orgasmic bliss. I laid completely flat, ready to pass out in that moment but Chris wasn’t quit done.

I look back at him, completely flustered with a happy grin. I could see in his eyes his concentration and steady pace. His chest was pounding and turning red. His body was glistening from sweat, his muscles were looking so… tight. I felt myself more turned on than before. “Fuck me harder. I want to feel you cum.”

Chris made eyes at me. Smirking at my directions but he did so. He. Fucked. Me. So. Hard. Thrusting into me as if he were going to physically nail me to the bed. I felt his cock reach so deeply inside of me and out of me a hundred times causing me whimper. He gripped my hair a little tighter with his last few thrust as he came. He immediately fell next to me on the bed and laid there in silence for a while as we caught out breaths.

“I’m so fucked,” I said. “What’s wrong?” “No, I’ve been sooooo fucked,” I said while attempting to get up. I wanted to clean myself up and probably take a shower but Chris bursts out laughing and pulled me into his chest. He kept me there tightly which was probably a good thing cause I start to feel how sore I was going to be in the morning. “Does this count as break up sex?” I wanted to know.

“No, because we aren’t breaking up this time,” he said. “Whoa, you think it’ll be that easy?” I looked up at him amused. “Well your heart is connected to mine,” Chris said with the most satisfied silly grin. “Oh cornball. Don’t think it’ll be that easy. You think one good fuck is enough?” Chris chuckled. “How about a few more fucks then?” He pulled my face closer to him, giving me the most passionate kiss. It was all so easy for me to fall for him again within a matter of moments. “Who’s gonna fuck you like me?” I gasped, slapping his chest. Who does he think he is?

“Oh by the way, people don’t belong to me,” I said running my hands over his arm. My fingertips feeling the veins that ran up his arms. “I don’t care. You’re mine. That ass... is mine.” I burst out laughing, grabbing the pillow behind my head to hit him. “Get over yourself.” I tried to hit him more a few times but he gripped his arms around me even tighter.

If there was such a thing called “Dick Whipped” that is what I am.

[delos-mio]

Death of a Bachelor - Part 16

A/N: The bitch is back! Thank you EVERYONE who has showed me love and patience and grace while I took time for myself to get back in order. If you’d like to refresh your memory or catch up, you can do so here. This is by far the longest chapter of DOAB so far, because no one can make messes like the Delos’ can. Tags are at the end, please let me know if you no longer want to be tagged! (or, if you want to be added) There is a scene akin to a panic attack if that’s a trigger for anyone- please proceed with caution! Alright, I think I’ve talked enough. Please enjoy Sweet 16!

The night before Jim’s retirement party, you were curled up next to Logan. Both of you couldn’t be bothered to get dressed after soaking, and perhaps a bit more, in the bathtub together. Since there were still so many last minute details to take care of, Logan had been out of the house most of the last week. You hadn’t seen him for more than the 5 or so minutes when he came home and kissed you goodnight before sliding into bed next to you since last Thursday. He still found time during the day to text you, telling you how much he missed seeing you, how that kiss he got at the end of the night, when you were still half asleep and flushed, was the best part of his day. Sure, Logan could be a shithead, but he was sweet when he wanted to be. And he was yours.

His skin was still warm and just the slightest bit slick as he propped himself up over you, eyes searching over your face.  The look on his face, the soft one with the adoring eyes and just slightly upturned lips, was your very favorite expression of his and one you simply couldn’t resist. “I missed you. I missed this,” you murmured, moving your hand over his collarbone and down to his bicep.

“Promise I missed you more,” Logan smirked and nuzzled into your neck.

You arched up enough to press your lips to his, savoring the fact that you could finally take your time kissing him. Logan was eager to acquiesce and slowly, teasingly, ran his tongue along your bottom lip. Just kissing him was already making you ache for round two. But just as you were about to grab his hips and drag them over yours, Logan pulled back and looked you in the eyes again.

“You’re everything to me,” he mumbled, running his large palms over your hips. You couldn’t help the stupid, dopey grin that spread over your face.

“Yeah?”

“Yeah,” he smiled. Logan surprised you then by rolling off you and walking out of the bedroom without saying a word. You snapped to attention and sat up in bed, letting the blanket fall around your waist as you debated whether or not to follow Logan. But, he returned only a moment later, now with his hands behind his back. Still standing in the doorway, he paused and let out a breath. “You look so beautiful right now,” he mused, unable to tear his eyes from you.

“C’mere.” You smiled and patted his side of the bed. Logan quickly complied and sat down, taking one of your hands in his. He looked a little nervous and you couldn’t pinpoint why.

“I know I haven’t been around a lot over the last couple months, and really not around this week. But I hope you know that I would always much rather be here, rolling around naked in bed with you,” he smirked. You let out a single laugh and squeezed his hand.

“I absolutely believe that,” you giggled.

“So, I kind of got you something. Just to say thank you.” Logan pulled a larger, flat black box from behind his back with a black silk ribbon around it. You took it from him, still looking in his eyes.

“Lo,” you started, smiling, “You didn’t have to get me anything. You know I understand.”

“Yeah, but,” he shrugged, almost looking a little bashful, “It’s something I want you to have.” You tugged the ribbon loose and opened the top of the box on its single hinge. Inside, there was a breathtaking diamond pendant necklace. It was simple and elegant and totally you.

“It’s beautiful,” you breathed out. “Thank you, Lo.” He could only nod his head, his gaze now fixed on your still joined hands.

“The, um,” he started, his voice shaking just a little before he was forced to clear his throat. “The stone is from one of my mom’s rings.” Your gaze snapped up from the necklace to Logan, your mind going completely blank. “I meant what I said, princess. You’re everything to me. And I was hoping maybe you’d keep a little bit of me with you.”

The Logan you met in the coffee shop, the Logan who hung over girls and guys to make you jealous, the Logan who damn near overdosed to forget who he was…all those Logans had grown and morphed into the man sitting beside you. You couldn’t wrap your mind around him giving up something of his mom’s willingly. This was a lot for him. This wasn’t him just custom making some expensive piece of jewelry to say sorry. He loved you. Logan Delos really and truly loved you. The tears that sprang to your eyes were sudden and free flowing.

“Of course. Of course, I’d love to,” you choked out. Logan finally looked back up then and saw your tears, which he quickly thumbed away. You understanding what he was trying to say without him having to say it took a visible weight off his shoulders. He leaned back against the headboard and let out a breath he must have been holding. You wasted no time climbing into his lap and peppering his face with kisses. Finally, Logan broke into a grin, which you couldn’t help but kiss straight on. “Thank you, baby. I love it. And I love you.”

“Anything for my princess,” he mumbled against your mouth. And, yeah, you believed that.

-----

The guests were all just beginning to arrive. You recognized a good handful of them, familiar faces from other Delos events. But a lot of them were old friends of Jim’s. They all had that distinct look of asshole with way more money than brains and old enough to be the father of the girls they had hanging from their arms. The sight made you a little more than uncomfortable, but it seemed very on brand for the company Jim kept.

Juliet, and Logan to a smaller extent, had done a beautiful job putting together a retirement party worthy of a billionaire. Jim fawned over Juliet, going on and on about how wonderful she did, bragging proudly to anyone who would listen. Though he acted like he didn’t care, and truthfully, it was what he’d come to expect from his father, Logan could be seen in quiet moments with just the barest trace of a frown. True, he hated Jim, but that was still his father. And his father was still refusing to acknowledge any of Logan’s successes, even the small ones like picking a five star caterer. Even though Juliet had taken up a lot of the actual planning and arranging, it was still Logan’s idea to event throw this party. Logan was still technically the one hosting. It broke your heart. After over a year, it had become a familiar sight, but time did nothing to dull the pain it drove into your chest.

As you scanned the rest of the crowd, sending a close mouthed smile to a woman you recognized, you felt John slide up next to you.

“Logan ditch you?”

“Momentarily,” you said with a small laugh. “Something about Jules and puff pastry.”

“Sounds about right,” John smiled. “Who knows what kind of disaster there would be if he wasn’t there to intervene!”

“You say that like he wouldn’t be the one causing the disaster,” you laughed as you felt a pair of arms wrap around your waist.

“You are so cruel. All the time.” Logan’s lips connected with your next once and then twice before sporting a full grin.

“You’re in a much better mood than this morning,” you noted, leaning your head back against his shoulder.

“No fucking joke. You were a little bitch this morning,” John laughed. Honestly, John wasn’t too far off the truth. Logan was worried about being able to pull off this party the way he had planned it out in his head. So, once you got to the Delos compound that morning, he went from 0 to 60, ordering staff around and groaning over wrinkles in his dress shirt.

“You know what, fuck you both,” Logan said with absolutely no bite. If anything, his grip around you tightened. “I can’t believe Billy is late to this. Jules is going to fucking kill him.”

“Hopefully,” you and John said in unison. It was odd, though, that William hadn’t showed up yet. He was already a fashionable 30 minutes late to his future father in law’s retirement soiree. And, to his knowledge, this was the same man whose company he was taking over, so it was not a good look for him to be running so late. As if she could sense the topic at hand, Juliet stormed over to your group, grabbing a flute of champagne off a tray and downing it in a single go.

“He’s getting on my last goddamn nerve,” she all but growled, staring at the front door, waiting for her fiancé to slide in.

“I’m sure he’s on his way,” you said, resting your hand on her arm comfortingly.

“He knew, he KNEW how important this was to me and he couldn’t even be bothered to get here on time! Dad’s supposed to hand Delos over to him in front of all these people. You’d think he’d show a little more respect.” Juliet crossed her arms and looked down at the floor, disappointment lacing her voice. Logan conveniently lifted his drink to his mouth as she spoke, not wanting to make Juliet feel worse about her piece of shit fiancé.

From the corner of your eye, the front door opening drew your attention away from the conversation at hand. William was walking in with a slender, beautiful blonde woman you didn’t recognize. If you didn’t know any better, you’d say he looked guilty as hell. “Jules,” you said quietly and pointed your chin toward the door. She let out and exasperated sigh and shot him daggers.

“Darling, I’m so sorry,” William tried, leaning in to kiss Juliet. All he got was her cheek as she turned away from him. “Jules, please. I had to pick up the pianist like you asked me to, remember?” he said gently, not wanting to incur any more of the younger Delos’ wrath. She looked back him at the mention of that. Evidently, that was something she had tasked William with.

“Fuck. I forgot. There’s been,” she let out a breath, “There’s been so much going on.”

“I know. But, I got her here!” he said with a cruel smile. His expression confused you. But when you felt Logan freeze completely, you knew whatever it was that William did, he did it for the express purpose of making Logan uncomfortable.

“Thank you so much for having me. This is a beautiful home,” the pianist said with a pleasant smile as she shook Juliet’s hand.

“You have to be fucking kidding me,” Logan mumbled to the group before releasing you and taking off for the staircase, not stopping for anyone in his way.

“I should…” you started before following the path he took up to the second level. All of the doors were closed, which made finding Logan a little more difficult. But, you remembered from coming her a handful of times before which one was his childhood bedroom. You knocked lightly on the door. “Lo? Baby?” you called, not getting a response. Gently, you opened the door and saw Logan sitting at the foot of the bed, his head hung down with his fingers laced together behind his neck.

You could see his toe tapping erratically on the floor, a tell-tale sign he was anxious. With the door shut behind you, you kneeled down in front of him and put your palms low on his thighs. “What’s going on?”

“I can’t do this,” he said softly. “I can’t…Fuck!” he cried out, tugging at the roots of his dark hair.

“Shh, babe,” you cooed, rubbing your hands in gentle circles. “Take a deep breath.” It took some effort, but Logan managed to gulp down a shuddering breath. “One more.” He repeated the action with more success. “Talk to me, Lo,” you said, encouraging him to open up. Logan had made so much progress with opening up and being vulnerable with you, it broke your heart to see him shut down so completely.

“She…” he began. So, it was the pianist. Perhaps she was a former lover. Did he know by now you wouldn’t care if she was? You trusted Logan and you knew there would be an ex fling or twenty still around LA. The thought didn’t bother you. Was there something about this one? He said he’d never been in love before, so what could be so bad that would send him running on sight?

“Who is she?”

“It’s Delores.” That was not an option you had considered. In your mind, you’d placed Delores into a box of ‘evil robot still in Westworld’ and therefore unable to get to your Logan out here in the real world. You had assumed he was safe now. He was healing. Shit, he was thriving. But she walked into a day Logan had planned out from sunrise to sunset and completely threw him off course.

“Oh, baby,” you cooed. “What can I do? What do you need?”

“I don’t know,” Logan sighed. “How many fucking piano players are in LA? There have to be hundreds! And that stupid fuck had to bring her here. He had to pick the one person he knows will rattle me.” He let our a sharp breath, running his hands down his face. “And he fucked her! He fucked her and fell in fucking love with her and brought her around Jules?” You could feel his blood pressure rising even from where you were kneeling on the floor. “I hate him. I him, baby,” he said, his eyes glassy as he finally looked at you.

“He’s a piece of shit, Lo,” you said simply. Logan was still being tortured by a man who very clearly had no sense of respect or decency. The thought of the hurt he was causing Logan and Juliet, if she knew about his clandestine relationship, was enough to make you charge back downstairs and lay him out yourself.

“This is so stupid. I shouldn’t freak out just seeing one stupid robot,” he muttered.

“Hey.” You pulled his hands away from his head and stood just enough that you could hike up your dress a bit and straddle Logan. His arms instantly wrapped around your waist and he let his head rest on your shoulder. “It’s not stupid. They both did unthinkable things to you,” you whispered into his ear. “I’m sorry she’s here and this is happening to you. But Lo,” you lifted his chin to look into his deep, dark eyes, “I am so proud of you. You worked so hard on not just this deal or this party, but on yourself. And I know how hard it’s been for you. So you’re allowed to freak out a bit, ok?” You both laughed lightly, but a lone tear fell from his eye, which he quickly wiped away.

“I don’t say it enough, I know. But you know how much I love you, right?” Logan asked, his gaze soft as his palms moved along your sides. The light reflecting off the necklace he gave you the night before caught his eye, and just the barest trace of a smile formed on his lips. He looked so handsome and so open, you couldn’t resist leaning down and placing a single long, firm kiss on his soft mouth.

“Of course I know. I love you too,” you smiled and he grinned right back.

“Mmm, say it again,” he smirked and you shoved his shoulder.

“I love you, dummy.” Just as you threatened to laugh, Logan tilted his chin up to kiss you again, this time taking control and letting his tongue trace over yours. The spark between you ignited immediately and Logan pulled your hips just a little bit closer to his. His half hard cock was noticeable as he adjusted you in his lap. Your heart was hammering in your chest as Logan moved his lips from yours to trail along your jaw and down to your neck. Logan took his time kissing that spot right at the base of your throat that he knew you loved. “Logan,” you breathed out.

“Hmm?” he mumbled against your skin, unwilling to move his lips too far from you.

“We should consider heading back downstairs,” you said before moaning at his teeth scraping that same sweet spot.

“Or,” you could feel Logan smirk against you, “We could stay up here for a bit and you could ride me.” Given what Logan was currently doing to you and what was going on downstairs, you were greatly tempted to give in to him. But you knew he was hiding behind sex again, which you didn’t mind, but the sensible part of your brain knew there was unfinished business to attend to before you could give Logan the kind of sexual attention he deserved.

“How about we go back downstairs and get this day over with and then tonight, I’ll let you do whatever you want to me out on the deck?” you bargained, knowing he likely wouldn’t say no to semi-public sex.

“Anything I want?” he asked with an arched eyebrow and you nodded. “And I can do it out on the deck where I can show everyone how fucking incredible you look with me inside you?”

You nipped his bottom lip before standing up and holding your hand out to him. “Anything for my love.”

His eyes went bright as he looked over you, his smile soft. Logan pulled you tight to him and placed a light kiss on the top of your head. “Thank you,” he whispered.

“I’ve got you. I’ve always got you,” you whispered back before kissing him one more time.

The two of you walked back downstairs to rejoin the party, Logan waiting at the bottom of the staircase to take your hand and help you the rest of the way down. Now that he had calmed down a bit, he kept your arm in his as an anchor, something to ground him and keep his thoughts occupied. You gladly accepted the job and squeezed his bicep reassuringly.

“There you are!” Juliet was clipping up to you and Logan, irritation burning in her eyes.

“Here I am,” Logan smirked.

“Shut up. Dad’s about ready to make his little speech, so I need you up front.”

“Why? So he can look at me like I’m a piece of shit while he gives my company over to Billy?” Logan bit back.

“Please don’t do this right now,” Juliet sighed. “I just need you to smile for five minutes and then you can go right back to wishing he was dead.”

Logan conceded and kissed you once more before following Juliet outside where the bulk of the party goers had gathered. You spotted John up near the front and made your way to him, not wanting to be left alone in a sea of billionaire strangers. John made room for you and threw his arm over your shoulder.

“You ready for this?”

“I really don’t know.” You were nervous. You worried about any potential fallout and just wanted Logan to be happy at the end of it all. That was all you really wanted these days.

“Attention, attention,” Juliet sang out as she gently clinked a fork against her glass. “First, I want to thank you all so much for coming. It means a lot to our family that you’d be here to celebrate my father and his many accomplishments.” There was a small bout of applause and you couldn’t stop your eyes from rolling. “I know he wants to make a few remarks of his own. So, without further ado, Jim Delos,” Juliet said with a smile.

Jim took the spotlight and gave her a tender kiss on her cheek. “Thank you, Jules. Can we have another round of applause for the wonderful job she’s done putting this event together?” The crowd clapped and you could hear Juliet try to say something along the lines of ‘Logan too!’, which Jim promptly ignored.

“I started Delos 30 years ago with the hope of changing how the world viewed VR and on a broader scale, the world around us. In those 30 years, I made a lot of sacrifices to grow Delos into the corporation it is today. If I were asked to do it all again,” You looked to Logan and saw the little glimmer of hope in his eyes, “There’s not a goddamn thing I’d change.” You couldn’t bear to look at him a second time. There was no way you’d be able to stomach the hurt we was undoubtedly trying to hide on his face.

“And while I initially set up my succession to have the business stay in the family, I was presented an offer I couldn’t turn down.” Murmurs broke out among the crowd, trying to understand what Jim was trying to say. William stood tall with his jaw set, confusion set on his face. Juliet had an almost identical look on her face as well. Next to you, John started to move forward, but not before shooting you a comforting wink. “It’s my pleasure to announce the new owner of Delos, Mr. John Collins.”

Confused and scattered applause started up, most of the guests still confused by what was going on. William had been acting head for some months now, so the sudden change was throwing nearly everyone present for a loop. “Thank you, Jim.” The two shook hands and Jim gave him a hearty clasp on the back. “J&L Ventures is very excited to be embarking on the adventure that is owning Delos. We have a strong vision on where we see Delos 5, 10, even 20 years down the line. And, yes, Jim is correct in calling me the owner of Delos. But I’m just the charming, eloquent half of the J in J&L.” John succeeded in getting laughs. John did have that bit of charm about him that people seemed to latch on to immediately. “Please, L, join me up here?”

Logan took four proud, certain steps forward and stood at John’s side, smug and sexy as he’d ever been. Now it was time for the crowd to gasp and loudly chatter. It was comical, you thought, the collective clutched pearls of those around you. You were so taken by how proud Logan looked that you almost forgot to check for William’s reaction. He was bright red and downright murderous- at Logan or Jim, you weren’t sure. Perhaps both. Juliet looked like she had seen a ghost and all color had drained from her face. It would have been nice if she’d been able to be looped into all of this, Logan had regrets about having to keep this from her. But, he also knew there had to be as few people as possible who knew about the sale of Delos.

“WHAT?” The roar from Jim pulled all attention to where he stood.

“L. You know, like for Logan? My name?” Logan chirped back. “Let me recap- you sold Delos to John. John is my business partner. John is also my best friend. It’s not my fucking fault you weren’t around enough growing up that you can’t even remember what my best fucking friend looks like!”

“How dare you speak to me like that!” Jim bellowed. He began to berate Logan as another argument broke out between William and Juliet.

“Did you know about this?” William growled, violently taking her arm in his hand.

“Does it look like I knew about this!” she yelled, yanking her arm away. “Don’t you ever fucking touch me! You really think I’d keep a secret like this from you? Do you know me at all?”

“Well, I thought I did. But maybe you’re just a cheat like everyone else in your goddamn family!” He was spitting mad and inching closer and closer to Juliet. But, being the big brother he was, Logan stepped between the two, pushing William back by the chest.

“Take another step closer to her and I’ll fucking kill you,” Logan said plainly. He didn’t need any theatrics for William to know he was serious. He stormed off into the house, leaving with a huff and pulling at his hair. Logan turned then to check on his sister, who was thankful for his intervention but clearly hesitant to even speak to him right now. You couldn’t hear their conversation, but it must not have gone in Logan’s favor. Because just as you approached, she threw her hands up and also made for the house.

“Hey,” you said, putting a hand on Logan’s back.

“Hey, princess.” Logan pulled you into him and kissed the crown of your head. “Was that enough of a show?”

“You always did know how to steal the spotlight,” you laughed. “Are you ok?”

“Well, my dad really hates me now and Jules is a little pissed at me. But, I’ve never been better,” he smirked, leaning down to kiss you softly. “I should go find Jules though. I suppose I have somethings to explain.”

You nodded and walked into the great room with him, hand in hand while he tried to find Juliet. It was a scream from down the hallway that drew both your attention. There was banging and yelling coming from the library. Logan pulled you with him to find the source of the commotion.

“GET OUT!” It was Juliet screaming at the top of her lungs. Suddenly, the door flew open, William tumbling out of it into the hallway and landing flat on his ass. His shirt was thrown at him from beyond where you could see. The shirt was followed by a vase, which shattered as it hit the wall behind William. All you and Logan could do was watch as the scene unfolded. Delores was pushed out next, looking disheveled in a distinctly sexual way. You knew William was capable of evil, but you didn’t think he was dumb enough to fool around with another woman right under his fiancé’s nose.

“How long?” Juliet cried out.

“Remember when we took that trip to Westworld?” Logan interrupted. Juliet snapped her attention to him. “I didn’t want to hurt you, so I didn’t say anything. But damn, Billy. You really are good at pissing off everyone around you, huh!”

“Oh, and I suppose you think you’re some saint, huh? You stop shooting heroin for 8 months and suddenly you know everything? You only fuck one bitch and now you’re the relationship expert?! Well, congratulations on doing the bare fucking minimum!” William laughed. That was it for Logan and he was charging at him and grabbed William by the shirt he had shrugged on.

“You can disrespect me all you want. But you’re never going to fucking talk about my sister or the love of my life.” Logan spat. “Get the fuck out of our house.” He released William roughly and herded him down the foyer.

The Delos’ siblings glowered as William grabbed his jacket and let himself out. Delores was still hovering in the doorway. Logan nodded toward the front door. “Sorry, was that unclear? That get the fuck out extended to you too.”

Delores looked down as she shuffled out of the Delos compound and into the passenger seat of William’s car. The peeled off into the California twilight, hopefully not to be seen again. Bombs had been dropped that night, now all that was left was to sort through the debris.

TAGGED: @thesandbeneathmytoes​ @marvelcapsicle​ @something-tofightfor​ @songtoyou​ @abroadcastofthemind​ @its-my-little-dumpster-fire​ @gollyderek​ @dylanobrusso​

[theimprobabledreamersworld]

Yayy! Despite trying to fight off a monster of a cold, I’ve got a new chapter written! :D

As I mentioned yesterday, this one is written from Logan’s POV because I’ve been wanting to create a back story for him in this story :) 

I’ll post the chapter under a line on here, but please check it out on Ao3 too! I love reading comments and stuff to find out what people think :)

Hope you like it!

Taglist: @psychedelicships  @edupunkn00b  @jwillowwolf @kacklingisanart @look-ma-im-on-tv @stardustlv @lost-in-thought-20

Chapter 5. My Heart Was Made Of Stone. And You Broke It Twice.

“But the wind has changed. My walls are weakening. They’re gonna fall soon. And I’m gonna need you.”

Logan was a man who always kept his emotions in check. He never let himself get too consumed by any kind of feeling. Happiness, sadness, love, hate, anger… Ever since he was sixteen, he refused to be vulnerable ever again. If you’re vulnerable, you can be broken. He had been broken far too many times when he was growing up.

His parents were agreeable, he couldn’t deny that… but he was never enough for them. Even as a young child, nothing was quite good enough. He remembered when the class teacher told his parents that he was the first child to learn how to write his name… he stretched up to show them and they let the paper flutter to the floor saying it wasn’t neat enough. He was only four! It got worse as he got older. Every time he was proud of something he had achieved, like getting a high grade, he was always asked why it wasn’t full marks. The unattainable goals were never reached and it took a lot to even vaguely satisfy them. He worked himself into the ground for the entirety of his school life, it affected his health, but they still weren’t happy. He was never strong enough, creative enough, serious enough, smart enough… and it hurt so much to know that. His friends however were amazing, they would always encourage him and make him take breaks when they knew he was working way too hard. They could always cheer him up and he was eternally grateful for that. Logan clenched his fists… he hated how much it knocked him down when he would walk in smiling over something that happened at school, to be told they weren’t interested and to just go and study. He always set himself up for the fall almost every day… no wonder emotions became such a hinderance. Luckily, music was his salvation for about eight years.

Logan took his head out of his hands, readjusted his eyes to the light and felt how raw they were from crying before staring at the dusty piano in the house intently. He used to be pretty good at playing. He loved his classical music, and still does. Just not playing it anymore. When he still had lessons, he was always thrilled with the challenge of increasingly difficult pieces given to him by his teacher. It was funny, his music teacher was the only person who ever truly believed in him. He was also the one person who could convince Logan to perform. The last concert he ever played in was the day before his sixteenth birthday, he played his most difficult piece to date… Chopin’s Fantasie Impromptu Op 66. They decided on that because it was originally a piece that no one was ever supposed to hear, Chopin never wanted it to be released after he died… but they did it anyway. His teacher said that he could then perform it however he wanted to, artistic interpretation and all that. He practiced and practiced at school so his parents wouldn’t hear it before. When it got to the concert, and his parents actually turned up, he was genuinely surprised. He walked out on the stage and sat down looking for his teacher who gave him a smile and a thumbs up, then the music began. He felt almost like he was watching himself play, he had never played with such determination before and as the final note rung out… there was silence. Before the room broke out into applause, his teacher was standing up clapping vigorously, then some of his classmates and other parents stood up too. His parents however were sat down, clapping politely with a neutral expression on their faces and Logan’s smile faltered. He gave a quick bow and walked quickly off the stage. His teacher followed him and gave him a hug while telling him how proud he was. Logan couldn’t stop the tears, he had never cried in front of another person, but no one had ever been proud of him before either. How embarrassing. The first time he had been shown positive interest by someone he respected, and he cried until the top of their shirt was damp with his tears. His teacher just held him and told him everything was okay. After he had calmed down and the tears had stopped, he went to go and join his parents for the second half of the concert, but their seats were empty.

In that moment, he didn’t get upset again and stayed unusually calm, and he knew that this was the final straw. He stayed at a hotel for the night at the insistence of his teacher, that way he could sort out his head and start looking up different apartment options. Which he did realise could be tricky as a sixteen-year-old… but he was smart, reliable, didn’t drink or smoke and had a substantial amount of money at his disposal. He waited until the morning and snuck back into his parent’s house to collect all of the things that he deemed necessary. Thankfully, the hotel manager was understanding and let him stay for the bare minimum price until he could find an apartment for himself. It took a few months, and the landlord had to be persuaded by his music teacher, but he found an apartment which was close to everything he needed and was affordable. One day, he would repay that teacher back for everything he had done for him.

He looked at the calendar, the picture of him and Virgil smiling and holding up their wedding ring hands was taunting him on the wall. He noticed the date. Wow, it had been ten years since he left without looking back, and he never heard a single word from them.

That was clearly for the best.

Ever since then, he never let emotions get the better of him ever again. However, as he looked around at the decimated living room, he had clearly broken and let all of those emotions consume him once again. Logan inspected the damage, as he traced the hole in the wall, the shattered photo frames and glass covering the floor, it caused his heart to fill up with regret. His heart was already full of pain, the regret was enough to make his heart quite literally tear in two. Virgil was the first person he felt like he could be vulnerable with again. When they first met, there was something about him, something that reminded him of himself. Maybe this guy was just as broken as he was, as he saw him hiding in the corner of the coffee shop trying to stay away from the world. He told Virgil this many times, but he had encased his heart in stone to keep it safe. As their relationship developed, as stupid as it sounds, he could feel the stone wall cracking and breaking off piece by piece, and he honestly didn’t mind in the slightest.

Now, he didn’t know what was going on with his heart. He was hurt, he was angry. It’s not every day you find out that the man you’ve been married to for the last five years spent most of his life as a well-trained and dangerous assassin. Going by Virgil’s words alone, the body count to his name is staggering and who knows how many people he’s hurt over the years. The argument they had earlier in the evening was playing on repeat in his mind.

“I couldn’t tell you!” Virgil shouted across the room.

“Why the hell not?! I’m your fucking HUSBAND Virgil, you are supposed to trust me. No matter what’s happened in your past!” Logan rubbed his forehead in frustration.

“Okay, you want to know why I hid everything from you? I did it to PROTECT you! My past is something that can be used against me, it is still being used against me. If anyone from it came after you… I would never be able to forgive myself!” The tears wouldn’t stop rolling down Virgil’s face as he spluttered out the words while his body shook with sobs.

Despite the hurt of seeing Virgil in so much pain, Logan couldn’t contain his anger. “What makes you decide if I need protecting? I can handle myself, ever since I was sixteen I’ve been on my own… You know that!”

Virgil sighed, like he was debating whether or not to say his next sentence.

“Remember when we met all those years ago? You told me about how you were attacked and how scared you were after it? Well… it was me. I was the guy who saved you. Every day since that moment, I vowed that I would protect you no matter the cost. Then I fell in love with you along the way, and I’ll love you until the end of time. If you want to know the truth about me, I know he gave you something. Look at it, and I won’t blame you if you try to turn me in to the police afterwards. I have to go now though, otherwise you will get hurt… I’m sorry, Lo.” Logan was left dumbfounded, and Virgil ran out of the front door, slipping away into the night.

There had been so many lies and too many secrets. He remembered that USB stick he threw in a drawer months ago. He opened it up and stared at the blue object, the label that read ‘Virgil… ?’ taunted him mercilessly. He looked over at his open laptop that was spared from his destructive anger, should he look at it?

Logan shook that thought away instantly, he needed to clear up first before making any kind of decision. He crouched down on the floor and started to sweep the glass over towards the sofa with his hand, just so he could clean it properly soon. He got to the first photograph, him and Virgil sitting in a restaurant holding hands and smiling at the camera. That picture was taken by Thomas and Nico, their two closest friends… He thought he should text them and see if they could come over. Virgil left half an hour ago, and he already felt too alone.

He’d contact them later, but for now. He wanted to stare at photographs and revel in his memories.